


Freak Fleet Files

by MissKitsune08



Series: The Freak Fleet [10]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Thrawn Trilogy - Timothy Zahn, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Chiss, F/M, Gen, ISD Chimaera, ISD Relentless, Imperials, Original Character(s), VSD Strikefast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2018-11-22 20:48:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 19,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11388108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissKitsune08/pseuds/MissKitsune08
Summary: A series of ficlets set in the Freak Fleet 'verse exploring the backstories of my main cast. Everyday life snippets, deleted scenes, what-ifs, serious as well as not-so-serious stuff. Writing a parody of myself? Abso-kriffing-lutely! Jumping back and forward in time through the whole series. Mix of Canon and Legends.





	1. Chimaera: What Could Possibly Go Wrong?

**Title: What Could Possibly Go Wrong?**

* * *

 

Grand Admiral Thrawn took his eyes off from the list of losses sustained during Admiral Konstantine’s unsuccessful attempt to capture senator Mon Mothma.

Two of Konstantine’s  _Imperial I_ -class Star Destroyers damaged so heavily that they needed to be towed to the nearest shipyard were about to be stripped down to the hull construction. They would need to undergo a complete refit.

A TIE Fighter squadron lost; too many good men and women obliterated by the gas explosion from the nebula.

But most importantly, his precious TIE Defender prototype ... destroyed.

Imperial Fleet Command did not agree with Thrawn's assessment that the TIE Fighters should be equipped with shields and hyperdrive. They dismissed his TIE Defender blueprints, telling him such a fighter would be too expensive for mass production. Thus Thrawn decided to sell a few of his precious artworks, using his personal funds to finance the construction of the prototype.

And it was gone.

His money wasted.

His precious artworks sold to a private collector.

Thrawn walked over to a cabinet and took out a bottle of Forvish ale from the drawer. Tonight he needed a drink.

He poured himself a full glass and let out a soft sigh in desperation.

Every time he had assumed that Admiral Konstantine's actions could not get any worse. Every time he had been proven wrong.

Thrawn had told him where the Rebel would be hiding. Thrawn had told him what he should do and where he should be waiting in order to intercept them. Of course, Governor Price also played a significant role in this disaster but she was a Moff. One could not expect military expertise from a politician. But the man had a  _one_  job…

Just what kind of political connections Konstantine had? When Thrawn had been approached by the Grand Vizier who told him that Thrawn would do well to give Admiral Konstantine a significant role in his campaign against the Rebels, Thrawn recognized it as a request from the highest places. A request that could bring him political connections he lacked and so desperately needed.

Thrawn chose Konstantine for this mission because he could hardly think of an easier task; Konstantine would become a hero for capturing an enemy of the state and Thrawn would have the door open to this mysterious inner circle. What could  _possibly_  go wrong?

This was becoming ridiculous. Never before he wished to be able to control that invisible force that Lord Vader so often used to discipline his men.

No. He would have to put up with Konstantine only for a little longer.

And then he would show him the difference between a mistake and an error.

 

**THE END**


	2. Strikefast: Rules? What Rules?!

****Title: Rules? What Rules?!** **

Author's Note: Jump back in time; the one month of hell aboard Strikefast, featuring Lieutenant Thrawn and Lieutenant Bittenfeld sharing bunks.

* * *

“Lieutenant Bittenfeld,” Thrawn said in a deceptively mild tone, the alien eyes emanating an intense, bright red glow. “If we are both to survive a month in these quarters, then there are certain rules to be followed.”

Bittenfeld gritted his teeth. Who in the blazing fires of Mustafar the damned alien thought he was, ordering him around like that? Thrawn was a mere navy  _lieutenant_ , they both held the same rank, army or navy, it didn’t matter; Thrawn had no freaking right to talk to Bittenfeld as if he had been his commanding officer.

“Rules?” He snapped. “What rules?!”

The icy blue alien made a vague gesture in the direction of all the junk in his quarters.

“You touch the art, you die an instant death. You cause a reversible damage to the art, you die the most horrible way you can imagine. You cause an irreversible damage to the art, you die the most horrible way  _I_  can imagine. Am. I.  _Clear_?”

Bittenfeld blinked. “Oh,” he breathed out. “Well, sure, why not. I’m not interested in your trinkets anyway.”

He could easily humor Thrawn with this one.

Apparently, it was the wrong thing to say. The alien hissed, a strange reptilian sound, and crossed the distance between them in an instant, the glowing eyes now mere centimeters from his own. Vader on a speeder, the red-eyed devil was abso-kriffing-lutely scary; Bittenfeld had almost wet his pants right there.

“Sir, yes, sir!” Bittenfeld shrieked, his survival instincts telling to jump into military parade attention straightaway as if the alien had been a drill-sergeant at the bootcamp. “Perfectly clear, sir!”

Thrawn stepped away from him, retreating from his personal space, giving him a chance to regain his composure; apparently he must have been sufficiently pleased with Bittenfeld’s reply for he gave him a curt nod, an expression of satisfaction apparent on the otherwise unreadable face.

“I am glad we understand each other, Lieutenant,” Thrawn said in a smooth, cultured voice, as if he hadn’t been about to tear him apart bare handed mere seconds ago. “There are no more rules from my side. Is there any wish or possibly even a personal request coming from your side?”

“So when  _you_  say something, it’s a rule, and when  _I_  something, it’s a request?” Bittenfeld thundered. “Don’t kriff with me, Thrawn.  _That’s_  my request!” 

The cold-blooded alien only tilted his head to a side.

“Most certainly, Lieutenant Bittenfeld. I have absolutely no desire to engage in a mating session with you,” Thrawn declared in a voice of durasteel, his expression deadly serious. “Or anyone else for that matter.”

Bittenfeld openly gaped.

“That’s…” he felt his cheeks redden up in embarrassment. “I, ah, I didn’t mean that  _literally_ ,” he babbled, totally at a loss for words, “it’s an  _expression_ ,” he supplied awkwardly.

“Oh?” Thrawn casually lifted a blue black eyebrow, the alien face unreadable, as if carved from a pale blue marble. “What does this peculiar expression mean, then?”

Bittenfeld let out a deep sigh in resignation, massaging the bridge of his nose with his fingers. The red-eyed devil was giving him an epic headache already, and Bittenfeld hadn’t even unpacked his own stuff yet. This would be a month of pure hell.

“Don’t mess with me?”

“Mess?” The alien repeated the word, savoring it on his tongue, presumably trying to make sense of the idiom. Then he shook his head. “I do not make  _mess,_  Lieutenant Bittenfeld. I keep all my things in perfect order under all circumstances. And I have no desire to touch any of your personal belongings either.”

Bittenfeld clenched his fists in anger. He was  _this_  close to start reprogramming the defective protocol droid with his bare hands. The only thing that had stopped him was the prospect of sharing the bunk with Thrawn for another month.

“Don’t annoy me? Don’t make me angry?”

The cold-blooded alien made a derisive sound, giving a long look-over. “I am afraid I am unable to comply with this particular request of yours, Lieutenant Bittenfeld.”

 

THE END

 


	3. Strikefast: Mindblown

****Title: Mindblown** **

* * *

 

“Is the thermostat broken or something?” Half-asleep Bittenfeld murmured in a low tone of voice, grinding his teeth from the cold, turning on the bedside light. He got on his feet to check whether or not the machine had indeed been broken before calling the maintenance.

Only it wasn’t broken.

“Kriff you, Thrawn,” Bittenfeld shouted out of his lungs, shooting a hard glare in the direction of the other bunk. The red eyes were calmly watching him back, glowing much brighter than usual in the total darkness.

“Still not interested,” the cold-blooded alien replied, dead pan, and rolled over to the other side, ignoring him. It seemed that kriffing with Bittenfeld was about to become Lieutenant Thrawn’s newest favorite past time; the red-eyed devil was totally doing this on purpose.

“It’s freezing cold here!” Bittenfeld thundered, turning on the lights. He might have been an army soldier, he might have been even trained to withstand unfavorable weather conditions, but he definitely wouldn’t let the cold-blooded bastard kriff with him like this.

“Do not be ridiculous.” Thrawn made a scornful sound as he sat up on his bed in a fluid movement. “You can clearly see I set the thermostat  _above_  the freezing point.”

_ Calm down, Bittenfeld, calm down! _

Captain Parck  had  made himself crystal clear: If either of them started another fight, they were about to share bunks for another month. And then another one. And so on. Until they either tore each other apart or made peace with each other. And to make sure they wouldn’t resort to cheating, Captain Parck  had  ordered them to report to the sickbay  at the end of the day . If there was as much as a single  _ scratch _ , the Captain would get to know, which meant another month of pure hell.

“I don’t care if you come from an iceball, Thrawn,” Bittenfeld gritted out; there was steam coming out of his mouth with each breath. “ _I_  come from Naboo, and I’m having none of this kraytspit!”

The alien jerked  in surprise , and then he simply stared at Bittenfeld; the red eyes going wider and wider, an expression of pure, unadulterated shock  spreading all over the pale blue features, obviously completely,  _ utterly _  stunned by something Bittenfeld  had  said aloud.

Bittenfeld frowned. “What?” He snapped. Just what in the Nine Hell of Corellia was wrong with this guy?!

“Naboo?” The alien breathed out incredulously. “A planet located in the Mid Rim, Chommel sector?  _The_  Naboo?”

“You heard of any other Naboo?” Bittenfeld retorted dryly. Seriously, what  _was_  wrong with this guy? Could it have been the cold? Making the alien brain literally freeze?

“No,” the alien murmured, still stunned.

“Then why do you ask?!” Bittenfeld yelled out angrily.

“I simply refuse to believe a planet so well-known for high culture, home to great many artists, architects, writers, poets, philosophers, and musicians, home to many of my personal favorites, could have spawned someone … like you,” the alien said in a disbelieving tone, giving him a wide-eyed stare.

“What?!” Bittenfeld crossed the room in a brisk stride, and came standing right in front of the pale blue alien who had looked up at him with plain confusion, still staring at him with wide red eyes. “Say that again.”

“But then, anything is possible, I suppose.” Thrawn tilted his head to a side, giving him a thoughtful look, reminding him of a scientist analyzing a lab sample under a microscope. “Since Naboo is also the home to Emperor Palpatine and to the Gungan species,” he continued his in-depth study, as if completely oblivious to the fact he had just placed the most illustrious national of Naboo and the kriffing Gungans in one sentence.

Bittenfeld openly gaped at the alien who was staring right back at him, the expression on the pale blue face clearly saying that Bittenfeld was a complete, utter mystery to him, something that did not compute. Well, frankly, the red-eyed devil did not compute either to Bittenfeld.

“Lieutenant Bittenfeld, is it permissible to ask you a question of personal nature?” Thrawn asked suddenly, crossing his arms around his torso, a look of deep concentration on his face, obviously lost deep in thoughts.

Bittenfeld snorted. “Knock yourself out,” he said with a small shrug. Now, what would the weirdo come up with this time?

“Knock myself out?” The alien repeated slowly; however, this time there was no doubt he had been simply unfamiliar with the expression, having no ill intent in mind. “That does not make any sense. Never mind, Lieutenant Bittenfeld. If it permissible to ask then I would like to know if there is perhaps any Gungan blood running in your veins.”

_ How dare you?! _

And Bittenfeld lost it, going after the cold-blooded bastard with an intent to beat some sense into his brain; only Thrawn was faster. He had jumped out of the bed, rolling away from Bittenfeld, and then he did the most unexpected thing; he raised his hands in a universal gesture of surrender, calmly saying: “Ceasefire. This was not meant to be a deliberate provocation.”

Bittenfeld  made a grimace . “ _ Fine _ . Kriff, this is crazy, I must have offended a kitsune or something.”

Thrawn raised an eyebrow. “A kitsune?”

Bittenfeld waved a hand dismissively. “Trickster spirits from Naboo mythology. We Nabooan worship many allegorical deities, such as shiraya or kitsune.”

Thrawn tilted his head to a side. “Ah, yes, I have heard of the shiraya, the moon goddess, traditionally depicted as a winged, female humanoid brandishing a crescent moon-shaped symbol. One of my favorite Nabooan artists made a whole series of statues worshiping the shiraya. I have never heard of the kitsune, though.”

Bittenfeld let out a small sigh. “Well, essentially, it’s a nine tailed fox who can take the appearance of a beautiful woman, who enjoys taunting and playing tricks on overly proud men. I don’t believe we met by a coincidence, Thrawn.” He said thoughtfully. “Definitely there must be a kitsune involved. Totally smells like one of her evil pranks.”

“Nonsense.” Thrawn scoffed, shaking his head as if he had found the whole notion too absurd. “I do not believe in any higher power.”

_ Then perhaps you should start,  _ _ Thrawn. Perhaps you should start.  _

 

TO BE CONTINUED

 

More on kitsune:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VaF2Nir0dks

 

  



	4. Strikefast: Curiosity Killed the Chiss

****Title: Curiosity Killed the Chiss** **

* * *

 “Look, I just  _hate_  Gungans, okay,” Bittenfeld let out a deep sigh in exasperation. The alien wouldn’t let it go. Naturally. “It’s not xenophobia, or at least I’ve never considered myself to be a xenophobe.” Bittenfeld tried to explain his stance. “I have no problem with aliens, including you, I have problem only with the Gungans.”

Thrawn tilted his head to a side, as if trying to process the information through his brain. “Interesting.” He said at last. “Then I shall not inquire further.” He gave him a curt nod in acknowledgment. “However, if it is permissible then I would like to ask you something else.”

Bittenfeld rolled his eyes; he sat down at the edge of the bunk bed and shrugged in resignation. Clearly, there was no point in trying to dissuade Thrawn from something that had caught the interest of the red-eyed gaze. He would have to bear with him until the alien's curiosity was satisfied. “Okay. I will try my best not to strangle you.”

Thrawn slowly inclined his head. “Likewise. Very well. Does the name Hela Brandes say anything to you?”

Bittenfeld blinked. Hela Brandes? Sounded like a woman’s name. “Nope. Who is she?”

Thrawn frowned. “A famous Naboo harpist.” He said in a cold tone. “Omar Berenko?”

“Never heard of him.”

“A poet. Author of the Defense of Naboo.” Thrawn’s face darkened; the glowing gaze intensified. “I cannot believe this.” He growled. “Nabooans are supposed to have a good knowledge of poetry, it is said even the lowliest laborers can be seen debating the merits of one classical poet over another.” He let out a strange low, guttural sound. “Palo?”

“Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“One of the most famous Nabooan artists.” Thrawn’s eyes narrowed into mere slits, his whole posture tense and intimidating. He looked as if he had a hard time keeping his composure. “In that case, I suppose you have never heard of the Parnelli Museum of Art either,” he said in a deceptively mild tone.

“Ha!” Bittenfeld exclaimed. “Gotcha! I did!” he shot the icy blue alien a triumphant grin, clenching his fist in an old gesture of victory.

“You did?” Thrawn repeated dryly. The tension in the alien’s posture disappeared; he lowered himself down on the bed with a long, deep exhale, all animosity gone in an instant.

“Sure.” Bittenfeld barked out a sharp laugh. “My parents’ flat is right next to it. Never been there, though.”

Thrawn blinked, falling silent for a whole minute before saying: “You have spent your formative years living right next to the Parnelli Museum of Art and never,  _ ever _  ventured inside?”

“Not really my area.” Bittenfeld gave him an innocent shrug; he decided to climb up back to his own bed since it seemed the alien was not going to attack him at any moment. “But I can get you free tickets if you want,” he offered. Perhaps then the alien would finally give him a break. “My father works there.”

“What is his position?” Thrawn asked with a soft sigh.

“He’s a guide.”

“He must be very proud of you, then,” Thrawn murmured in a low tone of voice.

“Of course.” Bittenfeld grinned broadly. “I am the eldest son.”

“Hmmm,” Thrawn mused thoughtfully. “Do you happen to have any family portrait with you? Is it permissible for me to see it?”

Bittenfeld cocked up an eyebrow. “Well, why the hell not, I guess. Here you are.” He turned on the holoprojector he kept by his bedside, browsing through the gallery until he had finally found a photo of his parents and passed it down to the alien. “Why the sudden interest in me and my family, Thrawn?”

“Simple curiosity,” Thrawn said in a neutral tone, taking the holoprojector from him. He fell silent, studying the family picture carefully for a couple of minutes. “Interesting,” he murmured, presumably after he was finished with his evaluation, returning the device to him with a thank you.

“What is it you find interesting?” Bittenfeld wondered aloud. What the hell was wrong with the blue guy? Well, Thrawn was an alien, and alien brains worked differently, Bittenfeld supposed; who knew what might have been going behind the glowing red gaze?

“The amount of family resemblance,” Thrawn said in a tone that suggested it should have been self-explanatory enough. “I thought you might have been adopted.”

 

** TO BE CONTINUED **

  



	5. Strikefast: What the Kriff

**Title: What the Kriff**

* * *

"You red-eyed devil," Bittenfeld spat out each word like a venom, fuming with rage. "Just who do you think you are?!"

Bittenfeld jumped down from the bed and was about to wipe the floor with the dirty blue mouth even at the cost of sharing the bunk with Thrawn for one more month. Only Thrawn had dodged his punch, and he kept waltzing away from Bittenfeld, unwilling to engage in physical confrontation.

"You wanted to know what I’d found interesting," the alien said between the dodges and crouches. "So I told you."

"Ha!" Bittenfeld snorted. "You just couldn't resist throwing it right in my face! You totally did that on purpose! Confess!"

He pointed his finger at the alien accusingly, stopping his advances for the moment.

Thrawn assumed a defensive stance, ready to leap into motion at the slightest sign of further violence. It seemed that he really didn't want to spend another month with Bittenfeld.

Well, the feeling was mutual.

"Yes, I did," Thrawn admitted finally, "however, I did not anticipate such strong emotional reaction from you.  _That_  part was unintentional, and for that I apologize."

Thrawn bowed his head low in what seemed like an honest apology.

"You are such a dick, Thrawn," Bittenfeld crossed his arms, shaking his head. "I didn't pick up on your favorite artist intentionally, you know, I just can't see the difference between Mon Calamari pre-Imperial surrealistic paintings and their post-Imperial abstract paintings. To me it really  _does_  look like the swoosh of a bantha's tail. I only said what had been on my tongue back then!"

Thrawn let out a deep exhale, his face contorted with inner pain. "Yes, I know, and that is the worst part. You do not even realize how uncultured you are. I had been under impression Naboo had a rather impressive education when it came to the humanities. Just how did you pass the obligatory classes?"

Bittenfeld gave him an innocent shrug. "I cheated my way through."

"You cheated your way through?" Thrawn repeated dryly. Whether the alien had heard the expression before remained mystery, however, it was quite clear he could at least understand its meaning.

"How else do you think someone like me could have passed the humanities?" Bittenfeld exclaimed, spreading his arms wide. "What?! You never cheated in your life? You never played dirty?"

Thrawn gave him a long, contemplative glance. "Not when it came to education. However, I never had any qualms about going after the opponent's weakest point or about using an unconventional approach at warfare."

Bittenfeld flashed him an evil smirk. "You sly, red-eyed devil."

Thrawn shot him a hard glare. "You and I are  _nothing_  alike, Lieutenant Bittenfeld. And in any case, how could you have passed the Introduction to Humanities at the Imperial Academy? The test was computer generated, impossible to cheat your way through."

Bittenfeld licked his lips at the memory. "I banged the teacher." 

Thrawn blinked. "Excuse me? I am unfamiliar with the expression."

Bittenfeld groaned in annoyance. "I slept with the teacher. I had sex with her."

Thrawn frowned; there was 'what the kriff' expression clearly written on the otherwise so unreadable face. "You engaged in a mating session with a teacher…" he left off for a while, his tone full of disbelief, "to obtain a passing grade instead of studying?" 

"Kriff yeah," Bittenfeld cackled madly, letting out a loud whistle. "And in the end I even got A+ . She was  _that_  pleased with my result, if you know what I mean."

Bittenfeld winked at the alien.

Thrawn stared at Bittenfeld with utter bewilderment. If it wasn’t for the pale blue skin and the glowing red eyes, Bittenfeld would have swore that Thrawn had looked just like a human at the moment. Then the alien finally recovered from his shock, clearing his throat, shaking his head, and muttered something intelligible in a language Bittenfeld didn't understand.

"Unbelievable. You are even more uncultured than I had originally thought, _Bittenfeld_."

 

**THE END OF STRIKEFAST FILES**


	6. Relentless: Cat Has Claws

 

**Title: Cat Has Claws**

Author’s Note:

A deleted scene from All Roads Lead to Coruscant, CH4: Assumption is the First Step into a Shallow Grave. 

* * *

 

“You’re right. Thrawn really _is_ an ensign when it comes to these things.” Dorja breathed out in utter disbelief, stroking his chin lost in thoughts. They could totally pull this off as long as they behaved nothing out of ordinary in front of Thrawn.

“So you see, I’m pretty sure we are off the hook.” Karin finished her tale, giving him a conspiratorial wink. “He wouldn’t notice a thing even if I wore a dress.”

Dorja froze, feeling a creeping chill in his gut. “You're ... You're not _seriously_ considering wearing a dress to the meeting, are you?” He gulped, his throat suddenly dry.

Karin flashed him an evil smirk, her eyes gleaming mischievously, and she crossed her arms again, leaning back in her chair.  _By the Emperor, she is._

Dorja felt his jaw drop; Thrawn might have been an ensign when it came to things like love, sex, or relationships but such daring stunt might have been obvious even to _him_.

“He really won't notice a thing, trust me,” Karin countered, letting out a giggle at his bewildered expression, “when we were above the Zeltros's orbit, he asked me if Zeltros was not to my liking. He asked a married woman who threw a bucket at him because of a supposed innuendo, whether a red light district on a planetary scale was not to her liking. Seriously, that was the second most awkward moment in my life...” 

Dorja blinked. “Oh. Is that how you spent your shore leave on Zeltros?”

They were talking about Thrawn and his lack of experience in certain matters the whole time that he totally forgot that Karin must have been at Zeltros as well. What happened on Zeltros stayed on Zeltros…

Karin threw him a dull look reserved for an especially dumb ensign. “What? You expected _anything_ else?”

Dorja cleared his throat, feeling the warmth coming to his cheeks. Well, she had been married at that time, but still, it was _Zeltros_ … Who would have…

“I … nothing,” Dorja croaked out, watching her face transform into the expression of a cold-blooded killer, giving him the same look he had received when they met for the first time, when she had asked him in a deceptively mild tone whether her dead clone trooper husband or her children might have been an issue.

“You're going to shoot me right in the groin if I ever look at any other woman twice, aren’t you?” Dorja realized. Oh dear, that meant no more Twi’lek dancers, no more Palace courtesans, no more… anyone. Good bye, his old life…

“You bet I will,” she said in a tone cold as ice, her eyes blazing with infernal fires. At this moment, her glare would have rivaled one of infamous Thrawn’s red-eyed stares. Well, she had certainly learned from the best.

“Anyway, you really shouldn't wear a dress to the meeting.” Dorja let out a small cough. Who would have ever thought of that, apparently Dorja was finally about to settle down. Either that or he could say goodbye to his manhood.

No one screwed with Karin Riza. Even if there happened to be anyone so dumb, and even _if_ there happened to be anything left from him after Karin was done with him, Dorja was damn sure Covell and his stormtroopers would have come to pick up the pieces with their flame throwers.

“Thrawn might not notice a thing but others might...” Dorja left the sentence unfinished, forcing himself to suppress the image of him being roasted alive.

And in any case, coming to the high society wearing a dress, what sort of impression she could _possibly_ make? She’d look like one of his concubines. No matter what others thought of him, Dorja  _did_ have certain standards; he never, ever pulled his rank over his subordinates. However, her in a dress with a man of his reputation, well, … 

“You're nerfing out again...” She raised an eyebrow.

“I am _not_!” Dorja opposed fiercely. “It's called cautious approach!”

Karin threw him a disbelieving look. “Sure, sure...” she threw back, each word dipped with sarcasm. “But fine, I suppose you're right about other people might find it suspicious. And in any case I don't have the kind of posh dress that would fit with the establishment of your choice.” 

Now it was Dorja’s time to flash her an evil smirk.

“Oh, well... I could always buy you one.” Two could play this game.

Karin’s eyes gleamed dangerously. Oh, she was tempted. By the Emperor, even a woman of her qualities felt the temptation. Well, she _was_ a woman after all. No woman could ever resist a fancy dress.

“Don't push it, snob,” she growled out, reminding him of an Outer Rim feline predator.

Oh, this was _music_ to his Coruscanti nobleman’s ears. He had _so_ much money he could spend on her.

“Come on, you'd _love_ it...” 

Dorja continued taunting her, taking too much pleasure at tormenting the female feline predator; he was but a man, a rich man, a _very_ rich man, and like all rich men he loved owning things, and he especially loved the idea of owning _her._  

“I can take you to one of the best fashion salons on Coruscant...” 

Karin’s eyes narrowed into mere slits. “Don't push it or I'm seriously going to wear a dress to the meeting.” 

_Kriff, the cat has claws._

“Fine.”

 

**THE END**

 

**Warning: From next chapter onwards, I'm switching POV to ISD _Chimaera_. There will be major spoilers for the All Roads Lead to Coruscant CH** **14\. Stop right here if you haven't read that one!**


	7. Chimaera: A Little Lost Bantha Club

Title: A Little Lost Bantha Club

**Warning:**

**Contains major spoilers for All Road Leads to Coruscant CH14: The Reenlistment of Eli Vanto. If you haven’t read that one, stop right here!**

Summary: Leave it to Eli to ruin Thrawn’s epic speech…

* * *

“Join me, Eli Vanto. Become part of something bigger, _much_ bigger than your Rebellion. Give your life meaning. Help me forge an alliance that would ultimately save the lives not only of my people but of _all_ your people as well. Please give this message to Admiral Ar’alani of the Defense Hierarchy from Mitth’raw’nuruodo, the Syndic of the House of Humans: The Chiss are not the only ones who deserve to survive the Far Outsiders. After thousands of years, it is finally time for the Chiss to open their short-sighted eyes and come to the assistance of their far-removed kin in the greatest war the galaxy is about to see.”

Eli took a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut, and with the exhale that followed he finally lowered his arm and put the blaster on the edge of the admiral’s table.

It was over.

The nightmare was finally over.

He gave the Chiss a curt nod in acceptance, not having the strength to say the actual words aloud; he felt so weak, so vulnerable, and most importantly he felt so incredibly exhausted after leading a double life aboard the _Chimaera_ for the past couple of months. It certainly didn’t help that everyone was nothing but supportive with his role, telling him that as long as he performed his duties to the best of his abilities, the worst thing that could happen to him would be a whole day’s lecture about the Grand Admiral’s favorite paintings. None of them had even the slightest idea that everyday Eli went to sleep with the fear he would never wake up—or worse, that he _would_ wake up, only to find himself chained in the middle of an interrogation room. He knew too well what happened to traitors.

“I think I am about to take up on your offer to use the refresher over there, Admiral, since I really need a moment to compose myself before I go along with your insane masterplan,” Eli murmured under his breath, feeling the warmth coming to his cheeks.

The Chiss blinked, simply staring at him for a couple of heartbeats, and then he erupted into another gale of laughter, the glowing eyes sparkling with sheer amusement.

“Oh, Eli Vanto, I really shouldn’t have expected anything less from you. By all means, use the refresher, and please, take your time.” 

Eli gave him a small nod in thanks, picking up whatever remains of dignity he still had left, and marched away from the Grand Admiral. As soon as he entered the adjoining refresher, he locked himself inside. He turned on the tap in the small bathroom and leaned down against the basin, splashing icy cold water all over his face. He made quite a mess in the process, but hey, who the kriff cared if he made a mess in Thrawn’s refresher? Served the master manipulator right.

He didn’t know how long he simply stood there, leaning back against the door, staring at his reflection in the mirror, thinking about his childhood on Lysatra, his service to the Galactic Empire, and his decision to defect to the Rebel Alliance—not until he heard a soft knock at the door, which made him jump in shock.

“ _Kriff_ ,” he barked out sharply, and then he yelled out in anger at the insufferable master manipulator. “You said I could take my time, Admiral!”

He heard a loud snort from the other side of the door.

“You truly _are_ so daring, Eli Vanto. I only came to inquire whether or not you needed assistance. You have been in there for thirty seven minutes and forty seconds.”

Eli groaned in annoyance; the Chiss was downright pedantic when it came to work. Eli totally lost count how many times the Grand Admiral made him re-do and re-write his reports from scratch, telling him they were not precise enough. Well, not “fake” enough, he supposed. Of course Thrawn would be able to tell how long Eli has spent in the damn refresher. Frankly, he expected the Chiss to count it down to exact milliseconds.

Eli gritted his teeth, straightening his uniform before he finally mustered the courage to come out and face the almighty Grand Admiral. He looked anything but presentable at the moment: his hair was completely wet, and the jacket of his uniform didn’t look much better. A little lost bantha club, as General Bittenfeld would have said.

He bit his lip as he emerged, fully expecting to be reprimanded like a cadet; but to his utter astonishment, the Chiss only cocked a blue-black eyebrow and tilted his head to the side, giving him a long, pondering glance.

“My whole life just turned upside down, Admiral,” Eli confessed in a low tone of voice, lowering his eyes, his cheeks burning with mortal embarrassment. “I need a quiet moment of peace somewhere far away from it all.”

The Grand Admiral’s lips twitched in a smile. “And I know exactly of such a place, Eli Vanto. Follow me.”

 

TO BE CONTINUED


	8. Chimaera: Enter the Chiss Den

**Title: Enter the Chiss Den**

* * *

“Your quarters?” Eli asked disbelievingly. “ _That’s_ what you meant when you said that you knew of a place far away from it all?” 

The Grand Admiral had _got_ to be kidding him!

“It may come as a surprise to you, Eli Vanto, but even a grand admiral needs a moment for himself after a whole day of ordering everyone around.” The Chiss threw him a small, playful smile. “You may simply address me as ‘Thrawn’ in here. Please, make yourself comfortable. A glass of water? Or something stronger perhaps?”

The living space was far less austere than Eli would have expected. The bedding looked... nonstandard, softer; and while it shouldn’t have surprised him to see art on the walls, it was real art, and much more delicate than he’d have predicted—starscapes, snow fields, and even one of the rare and expensive Alderaani moss paintings. Besides the usual bunk and work space, a small table with flimsy and drawing materials sat near the viewport. There was a carafe of some dark liquid on the table as well, and to Eli’s confusion, there were two glasses beside it.

Eli gaped. “Well, I’ll be... And the whole Rebellion thinks you’re a pedantic suffering from obsessive-compulsive personality disorder.” 

The Grand Admiral’s face hardened. “I am not. The chief medical officer had me tested. And after several hours of prodding and poking, she came to the conclusion that unfortunately I do not suffer from any mental or physical disease known to the Galactic Empire. I shall never complain about the 2-1B medical droids again. I have found out that the bedside manners of Imperial doctors leave much to be desired. Apparently they never heard of the phrase ‘do no harm.’”

Oh, this was surreal.

Eli snickered. “Well, looks like you’re in perfect health then. Why don’t we both have a glass of whatever this is, then?” He eyed the carafe on the table with mild suspicion. The Grand Admiral wouldn’t have lured him here only to drug him with a truth serum, would he? There was nothing he already didn’t know...

The Chiss shrugged and took out two new, clean glasses from an overhead cabinet, pouring them each a little bit of the dark liquid, leaving it up to Eli to pick a glass. Both of them sat down by the table near the viewport.

“Smells like tea,” Eli said hesitantly as he sniffed the liquid before taking a tentative sip. And he almost spluttered it once the strange taste registered on his tongue.

“What _is_ this?!”

“ _Chai_ ,” the Chiss said in an amused tone. “I found it’s an acquired taste for humans. You better get used to it as quickly as possible, Eli Vanto. Soon you will be required to drink it almost every day.”

“Sounds really wonderful,” Eli said sarcastically. He took another sip, and to his surprise it didn’t taste as weird as it had the first time. It was simply ... strange, alien, unlike anything he had ever drunk.

An acquired taste, huh?

Eli ran his free hand through his wet hair, and then he shook his head. “So how is it going to work, Admira— _Thrawn_?” he asked, dropping the rank. The Grand Admiral said Eli could address him by his name over here, and well, that was certainly fine with Eli. And it meant he didn’t have to bother with proper grammar either.

“I can’t even speak the language. Everything I’ve ever done in my life was for nothing. What if I fail? What then? Then we’re all gonna die for nothing...”

Thrawn threw him a long, contemplative glance.

“You can speak Sy Bisti. That is enough. No prior knowledge of Cheunh is probably for the best. That way you will be able to impress my people by showing them how fast you can learn one of the most complex languages in the universe. That itself will earn you more respect among the Chiss than you can possibly imagine. And you really need to stop underestimating yourself, Eli Vanto. You would have made an excellent _aide-de-camp_ if you didn’t report confidential information back to the Rebellion. Or a Rebel Intelligence operative if you were planted on anyone else.”

Eli winced. “You were playing with me like a lothcat with a mouse...”

Thrawn shrugged. “Even as a commander of the Expansionary Forces, I had been manipulating my allies and enemies all alike. You chose the wrong target for your first mission, _agent_. I have too much experience with this sort of thing.”

Suddenly, a horrifying realization hit Eli. “You tapped all my holonet access and all my personal comms as well, didn’t you?”

Oh, no. Thrawn must have been keeping an eye on all his private activities as well.

“I had to know whether you reported back to the Rebellion by any unconventional means. I am a deeply private person, Eli Vanto. I certainly do not enjoy such voyeurism. I simply scrolled through.”

Eli felt the warmth coming to his cheeks. “Oh, holy spirits of Lysatra...” He cupped his face with his hands.

Well, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise to him, not really. It made perfect sense. He’d have probably done the same if their roles were reversed, but still... This was so embarrassing.

“Really, you humans are _so_ ridiculous when it comes to these things. I cannot believe the thing you are worried the most about is your holonet search history.”

Thrawn shot him the hard glare reserved for an especially dumb ensign. “The thing you should have been worried most about is the long range holonet call with your parents that had been disconnected due to an unscheduled drill. Really, what do you think would have followed had your double identity been discovered by others?” 

Eli’s face turned ashen. “Well, I didn’t think...”

“ _Exactly_.” Thrawn hissed, a strange reptilian sound. To Eli, right now the Chiss looked as scary as Darth Vader himself, possibly even more so.

“You didn’t _think_. Didn’t the Rebel Intelligence operative teach you anything at all? I might have been playing with you like a lothcat with a mouse, but at least I came to view you as a source of entertainment, not as an actual enemy of mine. You never crossed me.”

Eli gulped, remembering the horrifying tales of what happened to the poor, unfortunate souls who were foolish enough to cross a Chiss. He dismissed them as utter kraytspit, of course, but right now he could have sworn they were true.

If there was anything Grand Admiral Thrawn hated, it would be traitors, saboteurs, and liars who had the audacity to lie right to Thrawn’s face. So what made Eli different from Agent Kallus or from the Lothal factory workers? Well, Eli’s actions didn’t cause the death of any of Thrawn’s men or waste of the Seventh Fleet’s resources, he supposed; and he never once spoke a word of a lie to Thrawn. He simply never told him the truth of who he was really working for. Was _that_ the difference? Had Eli actually crossed Thrawn, or had he done something that would constitute such an action in the eyes of the Chiss, would he have fallen into the same category as the former two? If so, it was a truly horrifying thought.

How thin a line had he walked...

“You are scaring him, _nar'ech’yon_ ,” came a feminine voice from the opposite side of the room, causing Eli to jump out of his seat in shock as he let out a high-pitched shriek in sheer horror.

 

TO BE CONTINUED

 


	9. Chimaera: It's Not Eli's Day

**Title: **It's Not Eli's Day****

* * *

Today was not his day, Eli thought was he made a complete idiot out of himself for the second time, openly gaping at the tall, slender female near Thrawn’s height, with powder-blue skin and glowing red eyes. A mane of cobalt hair was swept back in an artfully-disheveled braid, and while she glanced uncertainly at Thrawn, her bearing left no doubt that she was a person accustomed to being dignified and in control.

Thrawn sighed.

“No, Lisetha, _you_ are scaring him. Calm down, Eli Vanto, she means you no harm. Sneaking up on human men in uniform is simply her favorite past time. She finds their facial expressions highly entertaining.”

Thrawn stood up and walked over to the Chiss female, extending an arm to her, and leading her slowly towards him. Eli still stood there as if transfixed, staring at the two Chiss, his mind unable to process the pure, unadulterated shock at seeing a Chiss female, well, seeing anyone at all, in Thrawn’s quarters.

“Eli Vanto, allow me to introduce Lady Reli’set’harana of the Second Ruling Family.”

“Uhhh, hi,” Eli said lamely since no other words came to his mind. His whole life turned upside down today, twice. And frankly, he didn’t know which revelation came as a bigger shock to him, Emperor Palpatine being a Sith or Thrawn keeping a woman stashed away in his quarters. So much for being gay or a clueless virgin. Eli just won the jackpot of the  _Chimaera_ ’s betting pool.

Thrawn’s eyes gleamed dangerously. “This is not how you are supposed to address an aristocra, Eli Vanto.”

The Chiss female let out a high pitched sound, and it looked like she had a hard time trying not to laugh.

“Ah, forgive me, my lady. It is a pleasure to meet you.” Eli gave her a curt nod in greeting, and then he shifted his gaze at the other Chiss. Forget surreal, this was a psychedelic experience. What was in that damned drink?  _Chai_ , Thrawn had called it.

“How come you have a girlfriend when I don’t!” A grand admiral or not, in his quarters even the almighty member of the High Command was simply Thrawn. And even if he wasn’t, Eli wasn’t Thrawn’s subordinate anymore. Eli was a Rebel.

The Chiss scoffed. “I will not dignify that with an answer, Eli Vanto,” he exchanged a long, knowing glance with the female. “And she is no _girlfriend_. She is my wife.”

“Wife,” Eli repeated dryly. “This gets better and better. What comes next?” He said sarcastically. Really, a wife?! Grand Admiral Thrawn had a kriffing housewife?!

“I believe now comes the part where you tell him you are common born adopted to the Eight Ruling Family who later decided to give you over to mine as a gesture of a good will, dear.” The Chiss female’s lips marred in a smirk. “Or that I am with a child.”

Pregnant.

Holy Kriff, she was pregnant.

Not only the Grand Admiral wasn’t a clueless virgin, he actually knew which part went where. And if the other thing the Chiss female said was true, then she was no housewife; she was a lady of noble birth which made Thrawn her consort. _She_ was the one wearing the grand admiral’s rank plates in their quarters.

Eli snickered. “Well, your secret is safe with me, Grand Admiral Thrawn, since no one in the Rebel Intelligence would believe that even if I swore it on Mon Mothma’s “wanted dead or alive” caricature portrait.”

The Chiss flashed him a mischievous glance.

“Oh, Eli Vanto, you truly have the heart of a Rebel. Lisetha, why don’t you tell him how fascinating you found his taste in human holodrama? I am a very busy man, Eli Vanto, it was she who spent most of her free time overseeing your shady activities. And she certainly learned great many things.”

His taste in holodrama? Wait. No. No. _No._

The Chiss female gave him a long, pondering glance, the glowing eyes brightening up with open curiosity, something he noticed in Thrawn on multiple occasions as well.

“Oh yes, it was truly enlightening. The Chiss don’t have holodrama, Mr. Eli Vanto, therefore I’ve always found the concept most intriguing. I have watched so many based on the recommendation list of Vice Admiral Voss Parck yet I had no idea such genre existed. Dear Voss never told me. Is it popular to watch documentaries about one’s own species procreation? Or is it simply your personal preference?”

“Kill me, please,” Eli pleaded, cupping his face with both of his hands, his face reddening up in embarrassment.

“Lisetha, dear,” Thrawn abruptly cut her off after seeing the mortified expression on Eli’s face. “I have told you already, as far as humans are concerned, some habits, even though they are widely indulged in, are considered best not acknowledged openly. You cannot expect a human, _any_ human to answer such deeply personal question by their standards.”

Eli cleared his throat, trying his best to pick up whatever remains of dignity he had left.

“I asked for it, didn’t I? Truce, Admiral, or, Thrawn. Whatever you prefer. I will behave, I promise, just stop this torture, please. And if it’s not too much to ask, please pour me a full glass of the strongest stuff you’ve got here.”

 

THE END

 


	10. Chimaera: Syndic Mitth'raw'nuruodo

Title: Syndic Mitth'raw'nuruodo 

Author’s Note: Jump back in time, soon after Eli found himself aboard the _Chimaera_ as Thrawn’s aide-de-camp.

* * *

“Thank you, Lieutenant Vanto. You have been very helpful,” Thrawn praised his newly minted aide-de-camp as he read through the lieutenant’s proposed upgrades to the _Chimaera_ ’s encryption software. His little Fulcrum would no doubt forward the codes to Rebel Intelligence, providing the Alliance Command with a life feed to Thrawn’s falsified reports. Excellent.

Information was a weapon, a superweapon—the only kind of superweapon that could possibly bring an end to the Rebellion, no matter what the Emperor might have foreseen in his self-proclaimed visions. Thrawn suppressed an urge to sigh in desperation. The amount of manipulation he had to do to keep the Galactic Empire together was getting ridiculous.

The Rebel sympathizer stood up a little straighter, feeling so proud of himself as he thought he had managed to fool the Grand Admiral once again. If the Imperials under Thrawn’s care behaved like Chiss children, his little Fulcrum behaved like a Chiss toddler. Coincidentally, his given name also consisted of three letters, very much alike the name stem used to address Chiss children.

Eli.

Sometimes it took all Thrawn’s self-control to not to address the human as such aloud.

“Thank you, sir,” the lieutenant replied, his cheeks warming up at the praise. He looked positively pleased with himself. “I thought the encryption upgrade might prove useful against the Rebellion.”

_It most certainly will._

Thrawn held his opponents in the greatest respect; however, on the other hand, if there was anything in the universe Thrawn loathed with every fiber of his being, it was traitors, saboteurs, and fools who had the audacity to lie right to Thrawn’s face. And while his little Fulcrum certainly fit the two former categories, it seemed that at least he came to the conclusion that lying right to Thrawn’s face wouldn’t be the smartest tactical move. No, Eli never spoke a word of lie. He simply never told the truth regarding for whom he really worked, a skill Thrawn had mastered himself and thus could recognize immediately.

“I am inclined to agree, Lieutenant.” Thrawn gave the human a small nod in a gesture of gratitude. His little Fulcrum fell for the bait by the hook, line, and sinker; in order to do so, he must have spent many sleepless nights trying to make use of the misinformation Thrawn conveniently placed in his way.

 _Serves him right_ , Thrawn thought accusingly, since he had also spent many sleepless nights carefully laying his trap. He had to come up with the right mix of genuine and fake intel to make it believable, otherwise Eli would have figured it out. The young man had a very bright mind. What an ally he could have been.

No, no matter how hard Thrawn tried, he could not bring himself to hate Eli. The only crime this young, innocent man committed was doing the morally correct thing. Thus Thrawn decided to make use of Eli’s unique set of skills and sway him to his side. In fact, he had a perfect task in mind for the man of Eli’s talents. He would have to wait until his little Fulcrum made a mistake, though.

Thrawn had no doubt the right opportunity would present itself, eventually. He only needed to be patient. And Thrawn considered himself to be a very patient man.

Sooner or later, Eli would either become too daring for his own good, or he would come across information he would deem more valuable than his own life. And Thrawn would have to make sure he was present when it happened. Otherwise he would have to personally sign the order of Eli’s execution.

“One more thing, Lieutenant Vanto,” Thrawn said offhandedly, leaning back in his chair comfortably and crossing his legs, assuming an uncharacteristically casual position for him but one which would make the human feel more at ease. “You cannot perform your duties as my _aide-de-camp_ adequately if you are afraid to look me in the eyes,” he said calmly, without reproach. Nevertheless, he could see the young man wince.

And the human did exactly what Thrawn wanted him to do. He mustered all his courage and looked him directly in his glowing red eyes, saying, “I am not afraid, sir.”

 _Most certainly not_ , Thrawn agreed in private. _You are not afraid, Eli. You are_ terrified _that the legends surrounding the Chiss might have proven true,_ _no matter what your reasonable mind tells you,_ _meaning I can see right through your intentions with my deep gaze. Which is exactly how you blew your cover in the first place,_ _Agent Vanto._

No, the Chiss did not have the power to see through other beings or to read their minds. However, Thrawn had learned to interpret their involuntary physiological reactions and make an educated guess as to what could be possibly going on in their human minds. The more time he spent in their company, the easier it became for him to read them.

He said nothing, of course. He merely held the young man’s gaze, waiting until Eli calmed himself down once he realized there was no supernatural element to the Chiss deep stare. A direct eye-to-eye look might have had a slightly hypnotizing effect over other beings, causing Chiss’ ancient prey to freeze for a fraction of a second—a useful evolutionary leap in the harsh environmental conditions of Csilla—but that was all.

And it was time Eli finally realized that.

“Chiss cannot read minds with their deep gaze, Lieutenant,” Thrawn explained patiently, still looking the human directly in the eyes, “nor can they see the souls of other beings, which means they cannot steal them. There is no reason to continue avoiding my gaze when you are speaking to me.”

Eli swallowed hard. “I’ll remember that, sir,” he croaked out in a hoarse voice, trying his best to not to appear relieved beyond belief. He failed miserably, of course.

Thrawn waved him off. “Dismissed, Lieutenant,” he said softly, suppressing a smile. He truly had a whole fleet of children...

[So what do you think?] Thrawn said into the silence after the young man had left and the door closed after him. He turned his head toward the hidden occupant of the room.

Lisetha’s glowing eyes sparkled with amusement. [He will wrap the entire Ascendancy around his little finger,] she said, letting out a small chuckle, a very private gesture among the Chiss. [This must be your most devious scheme as of yet.]

Thrawn’s lips marred in an evil smirk and he stood up and walked over to Lisetha.

His wife returned his evil smirk with a one of her own. [And I want one just like him,] she declared boldly, taking Thrawn’s hand and placing it suggestively over her stomach.

[Lisetha...] Thrawn let out a small sigh. Now was not a good time.

[It is never a good time, Thrawn,] Lisetha countered, proudly raising her chin in defiance. [It won’t be a good time for the next ... thirty years or so, if your predictions are correct.] She made an absent minded gesture with the other hand. [You wanted me to take a more active role in the Borderlands Empire you are trying to build, and officiate its ultimate alliance with the Chiss Defense Fleet, and I agreed.] She spoke in a tone typical for a Chiss lady of noble birth. She was wearing none of the Second Family strapping, but even in plain clothes it would be impossible to mistake her for a common-born Chiss. [But I did not abandon everything only to spend my life in loneliness, Thrawn.]

Thrawn let out another deep sigh as he leaned down to kiss her softly on the forehead. [Of course not. Forgive me.] Lisetha had done something unimaginable: She had defied long-standing tradition, refusing even to consider a more valuable match after Thrawn’s arrest. Instead, she chose to follow him across the galaxy.

She threw away her life for nothing. Thrawn’s exile was merely a sham.

And she knew it. She figured out something was off about his trial once she broke into her father’s records, and her suspicions were confirmed after she had overheard Thrawn’s exchange with Captain Voss Parck. Once the human had left his apartment at Coruscant, Lisetha demanded an explanation.

And she did not take favorably the fact that he had chosen his duty over her without even having the decency of telling her the truth. Thrawn was reduced to sleeping in his command chair for a while.

It was not comfortable.

No. Unfortunately, Thrawn had not been the person she had thought him to be. Nor the one Voss Parck had believed him to be. He was a Chiss warrior, nothing more, nothing less. The role of a warrior was to protect the Chiss people, the warrior’s personal life was of only secondary importance. On the other hand, a true warrior took responsibility for his actions, all of them. Therefore, Thrawn decided to become that person. He decided to become their Syndic. There was no other way.

[Is it at least a good time of the month, then?] He caressed her softly on the cheek.

[It is,] Lisetha replied with a knowing smile. Thrawn wasn’t the only manipulator around here.

[I see,] Thrawn murmured as he kissed her on the lips, gently at first, then his kisses become deeper, more hungry. He flashed her another evil smirk, the one that sent a shiver up his enemies’ spines. [Then I will have to be very thorough to ensure conception tonight.]

 

THE END


	11. Chimaera: Frenemy Territory

**Title: Frenemy Territory**

* * *

They met Captain Dorja and Commander Riza at the entrance to Club Zenon, a private club for snobs located at one of the highest levels of the Galactic City.

While Eli had read the copy of Thrawn’s message to Captain Dorja, he had no idea as to why exactly the Chiss had insisted on him tagging around. Or perhaps Thrawn simply didn’t trust him, perhaps he thought that Eli would attempt to flee at the very first opportunity which had presented itself.

No.

Running was useless. The Chiss would have hunted him down, and if what Thrawn had said earlier was true, him running away would have solved nothing. Eli had to do it. He had to go to the Chiss Ascendancy. There was no other way.

“Captain Dorja, Commander Riza,” Thrawn said in his usual smooth voice, giving the two senior officers a curt nod in acknowledgment, a clear sign the usual formalities weren’t necessary. Nevertheless, Eli gave both of them a sharp salute appropriate to the difference in rank.

“Please meet my aide-de-camp, Lieutenant Vanto. He became my personal assistant shortly after the battle of Atollon.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant Vanto,” Commander Riza gave him a long measuring glance, evaluating him. A woman in her early forties, with an athletic built typical for most military women, with dark brown eyes and medium length blonde hair clipped firmly in place as per regulations; she wore no make up either, or maybe just a little bit to cover up the faint wrinkles around her eyes, and she had an aura of calm confidence around her, like someone perfectly content with her current rank and assignment.

Eli did a background check on her, naturally; ISD _Chimaera_ ’s former executive officer, reassigned to the ISD _Relentless_ soon after the battle of Atollon. Popular among her former crewmembers, behaving like the mother she was. And even though her clone trooper husband had passed away, she was still wearing the wedding band.

“I have never heard of the Admiral employing an aide before,” Riza said, her expression softening. “You must have made quite an impression then, Lieutenant.”

Captain Dorja only raised an eyebrow at him, giving him an evaluating glance of his own.

Eli suppressed a smirk, standing a little straighter at the praise. Oh, if they only knew that Eli was a Rebel in disguise, they would have been _so_ shocked. They both fell for his boyish charms.

Everyone did.

The Chiss’s face hardened, a signal to cut the chit-chat and return to the task at hand. “Shall we go, Captain? It is indeed fortunate you managed to secure a reservation at such short notice. Not an easy task I presume.”

Neither Eli nor Thrawn have ever heard of the place, naturally, only Thrawn was much better at not letting his lack of knowledge openly show. A members-only private club for the rich and influential, a rival to the neighboring [Club Diogenes](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Diogenes_Club) located just a few blocks away.

Both clubs were named after two famous philosophers; [Club Zenon](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zeno_of_Citium) after the founder of the Stoic school of philosophy, Club Diogenes after the infamous [Diogenes the Cynic](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Diogenes). (1)

 _I_ _t is likely you will find yourself in a similar position_ _in the Ascendancy_ _, and it is necessary you learn how to improvise._ Thrawn had said once he had noticed the two officers approaching

 _Well, if you really think a visit to a club full of Core World snobs would help me get in the Chiss’ favor somehow…_ Eli had replied doubtfully.

Once they entered the establishment they were immediately tended to by a steward droid that led them through the main lounge. Captain Dorja gave the others a proper Coruscanti nobleman’s bow in greeting, with Thrawn immediately following the suit, mimicking it down to the smallest detail—if Eli didn’t know the Chiss would have even him fooled—and while Riza and Eli tried their very best, they both failed miserably, resulting in a snicker from a Kuati lady in an ornate dress who stood close to the entrance.

Eli’s face hardened.

This was _exactly_ why he didn’t want to be here. He stuck out like a Wookiee at a formal Imperial dinner. Damn the Core World snob who took them here in the first place…

Only the said Core World snob did something completely unexpected; Captain Dorja leaned in, whispering into Eli’s ear: “As far the Core World hierarchy goes, Lieutenant, only the influential houses are allowed to sit in the armchairs. A chair with a back but no arms is reserved for houses of good standing but little influence, and the tabouret, a padded stool is awarded to wealthy entrepreneurs who succeeded in the Core Worlds. Other people would be expected to stand.”

Dorja gave Eli a conspiratorial wink. “She,” and he indicated the snickering Kuati, “is just rich.”

 _Well, I’ll be damned_ , Eli thought, keeping his face carefully composed, trying to hide his surprise. He did a background check on Captain Dorja, too. Admiral Konstantine’s former executive officer who got his rank mainly thanks to the Dorja family connections. Eli expected him to be Konstantine squared, but instead it looked like the man was quite considerate and warm.

Apparently, Rebel Intelligence’s information on the man must have been incorrect. 

Originally, Eli had assumed Thrawn kept Dorja around only because of his family connections, but now that Eli actually met the captain, he dismissed the idea immediately. Oh, Thrawn  _was_  after Dorja’s connection, there could be no doubt about that, but it was not the sole reason why he had appointed him as a captain of a star destroyer.

“Interesting,” Thrawn said in a low tone of voice, the red glowing eyes going over all sitting members. “How does the affiliation with the military fit into the social hierarchy?”

Ah.

So Thrawn had no idea how it worked, either, and it piqued his curiosity enough to openly admit to the lack of knowledge. As an alien Thrawn had probably never been inside of a private club for Core World snobs.

Meanwhile Dorja started explaining the rigid societal ladder, making Eli cringe internally.

“Krayt spit,” escaped Eli, and he was about to mutter an apology when he realized he wasn’t the only one being none too impressed with the Core World snobs. Commander Riza muttered the same backwater curse. Eli flashed her a lop-sided grin.

 _This dinner might not be so bad, after all._ It looked like Eli found a like-minded ally.

Only Captain Dorja felt the need to remind her of a proper officer’s behavior, scolding her for using such crude language in front of the Grand Admiral.

Eli snickered. No, Thrawn did not have the habit of swearing, but Eli could tell the Chiss found the expletive highly entertaining, his glowing eyes sparkling with amusement. And deep down, Eli had the feeling that Thrawn agreed with their personal assessment. After all, Thrawn was a commoner. 

The door to their private room opened and Eli couldn’t help but stop and stare at seeing the nightview of the ecumenopolis for the first time.

It was breathtaking.

With lights blazing from every skyscraper, every office block, and every vehicle, with the vague outline of the Manarai Mountains in the background, it appeared that Coruscant was constantly alive, working and living.

He could faintly hear Captain Dorja muttering something under his breath, however, it was the Chiss’s voice that brought him back to the present; Thrawn’s tone reminding him of his elementary school teacher: “Before it became Imperial Center, it was called Coruscant because the nightview of the ecumenopolis had reminded people of _corusca_ jewels, a rare type of a glittering gemstone.” 

“While the Admiral is most certainly correct,” Dorja interrupted awkwardly, “corusca gemstone is pronounced /kəˈɹʌskɑ/, not /'kɔɹəsɑ/, hence the old pronunciation /kəˈɹʌskənt/.”

Thrawn gave him a miniscule nod.

“Thank you, Captain, for the clarification. It might explain why Governor Pryce tried using the old pronunciation to get into the InterGalactic Banking Clan favor during the Grand Reception. However, she had said /kɔ'ɹʌskənt/, not /kəˈɹʌskənt/ which might also explain why her attempt has proven unsuccessful.”

InterGalactic Banking Clan?

 _More plotting, Thrawn?_ _What happened to Grand Moff Tarkin? Need an alternative method of funding your TIE Defender Factory?_

They all sat down at the table, with Riza asking why such subtle difference in pronunciation mattered; Thrawn decided to have Eli explain it to her: “Lieutenant Vanto, then, if you will?”

Eli only raised his eyebrows; of course Thrawn expected him to know the reason why Moff Pryce’s attempt failed. And he also expected Eli to burn it deep into his memory; he couldn’t afford to do the same mistake in the Ascendancy.

“Captain Dorja can identify what is ‘wrong’ without really determining why because he’s been born and raised here on Coruscant among the elite. Governor Pryce hasn’t, she is a Rim Worlder. I don’t think she’d be able to master such subtle nuances in speech that come naturally to Captain Dorja without spending her whole life studying history of local accents.”

Thrawn gave him a curt nod in acknowledgment, clearly pleased with his assessment, and for some reason Dorja looked impressed with him as well.

 _What? You thought Thrawn only brought me here to play the dummy, didn’t you?_ Eli narrowed his eyes accusingly, looking at the expensive wine list, flipping through the pages back and forth, unable to choose.

“Any recommendations, Captain Dorja?” Thrawn interrupted his trail of thoughts, giving the menu a single long glance as if he had made his choice.

 _How does he do that?_ Eli thought with a pang of envy. Thrawn was making him feel like a mere amateur.

_How can he behave so naturally when he is as much of Sedrian out of water as I am?_

When Eli had asked Thrawn to pour him a full glass of the strongest drink Thrawn kept stashed in his quarters, Thrawn had given him a forvish ale—forvish ale!—muttering an apology that he held no particular fondness for human alcohol, with forvish ale being one of the few alcoholic beverages he enjoyed for the taste alone.

Well, it _was_ strong, but still, Eli’d have expected something stronger from a grand admiral. Corellian whiskey for example. He knew Captain Pellaeon had a few bottles of Whyren's Reserve stashed away in his quarters. He would have thought the captain would give one as a gift to the grand admiral. Or perhaps the Chiss refused?

“I would recommend Blossom Wine from Summit Farm Blossom Winery, sir,” Dorja suggested, suppressing a chuckle at the frown that appeared at Riza’s face when her gaze fell on the price. The most expensive drink on the list.

 _On Lysatra_ _I could have retired with the money_ , Eli mused, looking at the price tag.

“Blossom wine? Is that red wine or white wine?” Eli wondered aloud, taking his eyes off the menu. There were no wine yards on Lysatra, which meant Eli’s knowledge of wine equaled to nil. Wine, brandy, and cognac were the types of drinks popular among wealthy Core Worlders. Wild Space yokels like him drank a different type of alcohol.

Only for some reason Dorja appeared to be shocked beyond words.

“White wine,” Thrawn said calmly without reproach. “It is a rare, fragrant wine created on the planet Naboo by distilling natural essences of different flower blossoms.”

“Oh. How do you know, sir?” Eli countered, looking at Thrawn with a genuine surprise. 

“I have been required to drink it in the presence of the Emperor,” the Chiss said in dismissal, giving him a small shrug. “It appears to be his favorite vintage.”

“Required to drink, sir?” Dorja repeated dryly.

“It would have been impolite to decline,” Thrawn said as if it was the most obvious thing in the universe.

Eli suppressed a smirk; no wonder Thrawn didn’t care much for the wine. He imagined the Grand Admiral listening over to the Sith’s visions of the future, quietly sipping the blossom wine, nodding from time to time to appear outwardly interested in the conversation.

 _It’s not the wine, Captain Dorja,_ _it’s the company._ Too bad Eli couldn’t have said so aloud.

“A different type of wine, then, perhaps?” Dorja offered diplomatically.

“It is of no consequence, Captain Dorja. However, if you insist, then the emerald wine would be acceptable. Since this type of establishment does not serve the Lothal vintage, I suppose the Alderaanian vintage would suffice.”

Well, Eli never heard of the Alderaanian vintage but Lothal emerald wine tasted just awful. His new bunkmates had given it to Eli on the occasion of his promotion to the rank of a lieutenant, bursting in laughter at seeing his face cringe.

It tasted as sour as Hutt punch. Eli totally fell for their prank. The one and the only prank they had pulled; they apologized and shook hands with him afterward.

“Alderaanian emerald wine it is, then.” Dorja said bitterly. “If I might be so bold sir, I would suggest not mentioning Lothal vintage in the Imperial Court.”

“Indeed?” One blue black eyebrow shot up.

And now Thrawn was totally pulling Captain Dorja’s leg. The Chiss’s sense humor was darker than a black hole. Eli almost felt sorry for the snob. Almost.

“Indeed,” Dorja conceded.

Eli hid his smirk behind a sip. The man was so funny, no wonder even Thrawn picked up on him. Now the real question was just how in the Nine Hells was Eli supposed to hold the damn wine glass?

“Perhaps it is simply a difference between Chiss and human sensory perception,” Eli decided to try whether it was the right time to drop the proverbial thermal detonator. Thrawn had wanted him to casually mention the word Chiss somewhere in the middle of conversation. However, he did not mention the exact timing or the reason why.

 _I want you to figure it out yourself,_ Agent _Vanto,_ Thrawn had said.

“Perhaps,” Thrawn shrugged.

Dorja exchanged a quick glance with Riza, and then they both eyed Eli like two Drayberian hawks circling their prey, Alderaanian wine forgotten.

“Chiss?” Riza asked simply, putting her glass down on the table.

“I am sorry, Lieutenant, what did you just say?” Dorja asked politely.

“Chiss,” Thrawn repeated the world slowly in a pure clinical tone, his expression unreadable. “The proper name for my species.” 

 _You’re so, so screwed_ , Eli thought. _I don’t know what it is that you've done but apparently Thrawn is about to remind you where you belong._

“Oh.” Dorja breathed out.

Riza looked stunned. “How did you know?”

“I am originally from Lysatra, Ma’am,” Eli explained, playing along, “It’s a world located on the edge of the Wild Space, close to the Unknown Regions. The Chiss, well, they have always been thought of as a Wild Space myth.”

“It seems there are legends of my people, Commander,” Thrawn focused his attention at Riza, giving her a Chiss equivalent of a smug face. “Curious.”

Eli let out a small cough, his cheeks warming up in embarrassment. Of course Thrawn would pick on him, too.

“Well, more like campfire stories, to tell the truth. It’s so silly, really. I’m afraid I haven’t made the best first impression, Commander.”

 _More like I made a total idiot out of myself. I wonder how Thrawn_ _managed to keep_ _a straight face back then. Well… It could have been worse. He could have me executed on the spot._

“Still, I would appreciate if you could share some of the stories with us, Lieutenant,” Riza said with encouragement.

_And now you’re walking right into the Chiss’s trap, Commander._

“According to the legends, Commander Riza, Captain Dorja, Chiss are able to read minds with their gaze and steal the souls of the individuals who are foolish enough to look them in the eyes.” It was Thrawn who answered, giving them both a long, hard stare with the glowing red eyes, pulling them into the strange, hypnotizing gaze. Now that Eli had the opportunity to observe Thrawn’s little parlor trick, he had to admit the effect was almost comical.

 _What did you do to deserve the proverbial slap on the wrist, huh?_ Eli wondered. 

“Even when false, legends can be most informative about the people who tell them,” Thrawn finished his tale, releasing them from the spell simply by lowering his eyes, focusing his attention on the wine.

Dorja took a deep breath and poured himself an another glass, and then he ordered one more bottle. He threw a brief glance at Riza.

 _Hmmm … They must have done something the Chiss would not have sanctioned, and it can’t be work_ _related_ _, he would have reprimanded them publicly if that was the case._ _It has to be personal._

Eli continued sipping his drink in silence, thinking of the possible reasons for the proverbial slap on the wrist. He remembered the folder the Rebel Intelligence had on the Captain. According to the file, Dorja liked to sleep around with the Palace courtesans, a fairly common vice among Coruscanti men of his social standing.

On the other hand, Riza was a Rim Worlder. Was it possible the Captain pulled his rank over her? Abused his authority? No. Eli dismissed the thought immediately. They seemed to be on friendly terms.

Could they be having a love affair? Eli’s gaze fell on the wedding band on the Commander’s left hand. No. Eli dismissed the thought as well. Dorja would have never allowed her to keep the wedding band, a blow to any man’s pride, especially to a Coruscanti nobleman’s pride. In any case, their behavior was pure professional. There were no sideways looks or outward signs of intimacy.

And he dismissed the idea of Commander Riza being a gold digger as well. A sexual relationship with Captain Dorja would have certainly solved her financial situation, however, she did not seem the type who would lower herself to sleeping with a man for money. No. Definitely not.

Dorja’s voice interrupted his trail of thoughts: “If I may be so bold, sir, are you planning for your aide-de-camp to accompany you to any official functions?”

“It is possible he might be required to take part in ceremonial or diplomatic functions,” Thrawn offered without elaborating further.

Eli resisted an urge to palm his face. Just how in the universe was he supposed to play the role of an ambassador? He was a mere country bumpkin. He couldn’t even hold the damn wine glass properly!

“Then if it is alright with you, sir, perhaps I could fill the gaps in his education,” Dorja bit his lip, giving Eli a long lookover, “a couple of weeks aboard the Relentless should be enough.”

 _Why me?_ Eli whimpered. _Why it had to be me?_

To all appearances, Thrawn seemed to consider the request until he finally inclined his head. Eli narrowed his eyes. _That_ was the main reason why he insisted on Eli tagging around. It was pretty obvious Thrawn didn’t need much. He was the true master of improvisation and disguise. He didn’t want Dorja to teach _him_ , he wanted Dorja to teach _Eli_.

“It could prove useful in the future,” Thrawn said without giving anything away. “However, I am sending General Bittenfeld with him, Captain. It has come to my attention that the Army contingent is in a need of weeding out the incompetent.”

Eli gritted his teeth. Of course Thrawn’d send the gundark to keep an eye on him in case Eli decided to back way from their part of the deal. 

Dorja gulped. He didn’t seem too enthusiastic to let the gundark loose on his ship, either. “With all due respect, sir,...”

“While I made significant changes in the chain of command I have avoided meddling with the Army contingent’s internal affairs,” Thrawn said in a tone that left no room for argument. “If they do not agree with General Bittenfeld’s methods, they are free to complain to the High Command, addressing their concerns directly to the Grand General.”

 _No, Dorja, one does not simply interfere with Thrawn’s plans_ , Eli thought bitterly. _Weeding out the incompetents?_ _More like Vantositting… Shavit, I am so dead. The gundark will tear me apart once he finds out I am a Rebel in disguise._

Eli gulped.

Or perhaps not. Killing him would interfere with Thrawn’s plans, and while General Bittenfeld might have been a gundark, Thrawn held the reins of the beast firmly in his hands. Bittenfeld wouldn’t go against Thrawn’s direct orders, but even with that taken into an account, he would have plenty of opportunities to make Eli’s life hell aboard the _Relentless_ …

_Why me? Why it had to be me?_

Dorja massaged the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “Understood, sir.”

Riza, meanwhile, decided to step in and disperse the tense atmosphere, changing the topic entirely. “I realize I am overstepping my place, sir, but I cannot help wondering, Admiral, considering Lieutenant Vanto more or less implied you come from the Unknown Regions, sir, what was the most difficult thing to master for someone who must have originated from a wholly different culture?”

There was an indescribable shift in the red gaze and then the glowing eyes focused solely on her. “Language transfer.” 

“Language transfer?” Dorja repeated.

“Do you speak any other language than Galactic Basic, Captain Dorja?” Thrawn turned his gaze back on the Captain, leaning forward in his chair, steepling his fingers in front of his face.

“No, sir,” Dorja shook his head.

No, Dorja didn’t strike Eli as the type who would care to learn an alien language, though he could probably swear in Huttese. Not that a Coruscanti snob like him would ever admit to it aloud, of course. Not even under torture. It would ruin his nobleman’s reputation.

Knowledge of other languages might have been redundant in everyday life but still there were humans who would choose to pick up an another language for various reasons. Swearing in alien languages was immensely popular thorough all the Galaxy, then there were language enthusiasts, scientists, ISB operatives, smugglers, and of course, the insurgents.

Like Eli.

All of Eli’s messages to the Rebel Intelligence were not only encrypted, they were also written in an obscure alien language, using primitive words for Imperial terms. Eli suppressed a grimace. He might have as well broadcast the messages on an open channel in Galactic Basic, saving them the trouble of decoding his messages. Thrawn gave Eli _precisely_ what he had wanted the Rebellion to know.

“Language transfer is a complex phenomenon resulting from interaction between learners’ prior linguistic knowledge, the target-language input they encounter, and their cognitive processes,” Thrawn explained the term. However, it was clear from their expressions they didn’t understand the explanation.

“The Admiral refers to speakers applying knowledge from one language to another language. Sometimes it helps, sometimes it results an unintentional error, either grammatical or syntactical, and sometimes, when interspecies cognitive processes are thrown to the mix, it completely changes the meaning of the sentence,” Eli tried to put it in simpler terms.

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Riza said, taking a deep sip from her glass. She was already drunk.

Dorja crossed his arms. The Captain looked distressed. Now the real question: Why? Eli continued observing the Captain out of the corner of his eyes.

“Is that the reason, sir, why you are using fine arts to get into the minds of the other beings?” 

“Essentially correct, Lieutenant,” Thrawn said, tilting his head to a side. “While literature, and especially poetry, certainly offers an insight to the mind of the author, there are other factors one must take into an account, such as errors in translation or the second language acquisition of the reader. The fine arts simplify the process by removing the language and the cognitive barrier.”

Captain Dorja have Eli a long, pondering glance. He wasn’t stupid, Eli speculated, only kept unaware of all the information. Like everyone else.

_Withholding information is the essence of tyranny. Control of the flow of information is the tool of the dictatorship._

Thrawn would have none of Eli’s political views, naturally, insisting he needed the Sith and his Galactic Empire. Going public with the news that the glorious Emperor Palpatine was nerfshit crazy would undermine all Thrawn’s efforts.

 _Well, you’d better known what you’re doing, Thrawn,_ Eli thought bitterly. _Because if you’re wrong, then the whole Galaxy will pay in blood for your mistake._

His trail of thoughts was interrupted by a soft beep coming from his small datapad.

“Excuse me,” Eli said and took out the device, looking at the screen. “Ah, Admiral, you have a new priority message from Lord Vader, sir.”

Wordlessly, Thrawn took the datapad from him and read the message, his eyebrows marring in a frown, his expression clouding in an annoyance. Then he proceeded to type a few words and returned the datapad back to Eli.

Dorja’s eyes boggled in surprise; Thrawn seemed to notice the Captain’s shock, giving him in a small shrug. “Lord Vader needs to learn patience. I will review his request through proper channels and with appropriate security measurements once I return back to the _Chimaera_.”

Eli didn’t know the content of the message; Thrawn had already disabled Eli’s authorization codes. Still, Eli could easily imagine how the message went:

* * *

From: thrawn@high-command.empire

To: darth.vader@high-command.empire

Lord Vader,

I regret to inform you I am unavailable at the moment. I will review your request through proper channels and with appropriate security measurements once I return back to the Chimaera.

Thrawn

Grand Admiral

Imperial High Command

Affiliation: The Seventh Fleet

Flagship: Imperial Star Destroyer Chimaera

This message (including any attachments) may contain confidential, proprietary, privileged and/or private information. The information is intended to be for the use of the individual or entity designated above. If you are not the intended recipient of this message, please notify the sender immediately, and delete the message and any attachments. Any disclosure, reproduction, distribution or other use of this message or any attachments by an individual or entity other than the intended recipient is prohibited under Imperial law.

* * *

 

Eli’s cheeks reddened up in embarrassment. The confidentiality notice in Thrawn’s messages had been a reference to Eli’s antics, of course. The Chiss truly had a weird sense of humor.

There was another beep coming from his datapad.

“What is it now, Lieutenant?” Thrawn asked, his eyes narrowed, annoyance at the interruption in his voice crystal clear.

“I’m sorry, sir, this time it’s for me,” Eli said sheepishly, looking at the datapad screen, then frowning, “Oh, ehm, it’s a message from Lord Vader’s aide, sir, asking how long it would take you to get aboard the _Chimaera_ because he cannot possibly deliver such a message to his master.”

Eli wondered whether Lord Vader would soon find himself in a need of a new personal aide. 

 _Well, Thrawn, if you’re trying to convince me you’re not another Darth Vader, that you’re not another_ Palpatine _, now would be a good time,_ Eli prayed silently. _Let the man live, please. I beg you,_ _Admiral_ _, have a mercy with the poor soul. He doesn’t deserve to die because of my antics. You can’t blame him for being afraid of the Dark Lord, can you?_

“Tell him,” Thrawn fell silent for a while; he truly held the life of the man on the other end of the line in his hands. “I am already on my way and will be aboard the _Chimaera_ in thirty minutes. And please mention that if he requires further clarification he is to send it to my account, not yours. While I can understand his motives I do not appreciate such cowardly tactics.”

Holy spirits of Lysatra, he really let it slide. Eli sighed in relief. 

Still, thirty minutes.

That meant that Thrawn planned to stay a while; the journey back to the _Chimaera_ couldn’t have taken more than ten minutes, members of the High Command had absolute flight priority. A lot could happen in twenty minutes.

“A word with you, if you please, Captain Dorja?”

“Of course, sir,” Dorja stood up and led him to an another private room where they could safely talk without a risk of being overheard.

One the two disappeared from sight, Eli poured himself a full glass of the most expensive wine he had ever drunk in his life and drowned it in a single gulp, ignoring the drunken look from Riza.

“Have you ever heard of Lysatra, Ma’am?” Eli asked the Commander. He needed to occupy his mind, and talking about his childhood was as good as topic as any. After all, he had very fond memories of his world.

 

* * *

 

Once they bid goodbye to Captain Dorja and Commander Riza, Thrawn and Eli immediately switched to Sy Bisti.

“You look positively pleased with yourself,” Eli commented dryly, noticing the smug expression on the Chiss’s face.

Thrawn flashed him an evil smirk. “The main objective was a success,” he let out a small shrug without elaborating further. “Hopefully I will be able to make a new alliance. One that could prove very useful against the Far Outsiders.”

Eli rolled his eyes. “Captain Dorja doesn’t strike me like a master manipulator. Somebody from his circle of connections?”

Thrawn gave him an approving nod. “Yes. However, that is all I am willing to say on the matter, Eli Vanto.”

Eli frowned. “You made it look like Captain Dorja was given a choice, no doubt. Just like with me.”

Thrawn already came here with the knowledge that Captain Dorja had an access to a piece of information the Chiss wanted, only the master manipulator was waiting for the right opportunity to bring it up. And the time has come.

The glowing eyes glittered.

“Oh, Captain Dorja _was_ given a choice, Eli Vanto. Just like you. And just like you he happened to make the correct one. I made him an offer his old self would have been unable to refuse. It appears Captain Dorja finally learned his lesson. Thanks to Commander Riza, no doubt.”

Thrawn let out a deep sigh. “Very well. I will protect their little secret. Have you been able to figure it out?”

Eli cleared his throat. “Not really.” He admitted grudgingly. “I had a couple of ideas but I dismissed all of them eventually.”

Thrawn did not scold him. “What were your assumptions?” 

“Well,” Eli begun awkwardly, “I thought Captain Dorja might be pulling his rank over Riza but I dismissed the idea because they seemed to be on friendly terms. Then I thought they could be having an affair but Commander Riza wore her old wedding band which is something that no man, especially a Coruscanti nobleman, would stomach down. Also, they behaved like pure professionals, not like a two love birds. Then I wondered whether Riza could be a gold digger but I dismissed the thought immediately.”

“You were correct in your assumptions,” Thrawn interrupted his musings.

“Riza is a gold-digger?” Eli exclaimed in shock.

Thrawn stopped and stared.

“No.”

The one word was a grade. And the grade was F.

“Commander Riza is not after Captain Dorja’s money.” A corner of Thrawn’s lip quirked up. “You are a never ending source of entertainment, Eli Vanto. I am truly going to miss these moments. You second assumption was correct. They are having a love affair. I am trying to raise them into my perfect hybrid warriors and they are doing _everything_ in their powers to undermine my efforts.”

Eli blinked. “I can’t believe he’d let her wear the wedding band...”

They resumed their walk.

“Yes. That was very clever of him.” Thrawn said in an approving tone. “No one will suspect them if she continues to wear the ring in public.”

“Still can’t believe the Coruscanti snob would stomach it...” Eli murmured softly.

“Well, he’s not _that_ bad,” Eli admitted, remembering Dorja’s step-in over the snickering Kuati. “But the Emperor’s black bones, even a Coruscanti snob like him has a girlfriend! So how come I don’t? It’s always: _‘Eli, you are so sweet.’_ or _‘Eli, let’s be friends.’_ And now I am about to die and go to the Ascendancy without ever having a girlfriend...”

Eli let out a deep sigh in disappointment, his eyes on the Coruscanti traffic. “I’d have drunk down my sorrows with Colonel Covell since he’s also the type who ends up friend zoned every time but then I found out he used to have a kriffing fiancee in the past… Even if she left him.” 

The Chiss stopped and stared for the second time.

“You humans are _so_ ridiculous when it comes to these things.” Thrawn said in a baffled tone, looking at Eli as if he made absolutely no sense. Then he let out a discreet cough. “In any case, I do not think the Colonel would have appreciated sharing such deeply personal information in such careless manner.”

Eli made a grimace.

“No, I suppose he wouldn’t. It’s been _so_ difficult, you know. I’ve tried to gather as much intel on them as I could but in order to do so I had to get them under my skin. I’ve wondered many times on which side I’m really on, and whether I’m even on the right side. And in the end, I’ve switched sides again, and ended up working for you.”

He was speaking mostly for himself. It didn’t matter whether the other would listen or not. He just needed to get it out off his system.

Thrawn nodded. “While I can certainly understand your sentiments, Eli Vanto, fortunately I have never found myself in your exact position. The Imperials under my command are my allies, not my enemies, which means I do not need to gather personal information on them for the purpose of blackmail. Over the years I have even come to see them as my descendants.”

 _Descendants? An interesting choice of words,_ Eli thought.

“Mixed loyalties are a luxury no officer of the Imperial Fleet can afford, Eli Vanto.” Thrawn concluded, causing Eli to bark out a sharp laugh. (2)

“Funny, coming from you,” Eli threw right back.

Thrawn merely raised an eyebrow.

“I have my loyalties in perfect order. My loyalty is to those who depend on me. The Chiss, and, by extension, the humans and other beings under my care. Shall we go?” Thrawn gestured towards the shuttlecraft.

* * *

 

“You are dismissed, Ensign.” Thrawn calmly told the pilot of the _Lambda_ shuttle. “Lieutenant Vanto and I will take over from here.”

“Yes, sir.” The young ensign said crisply. If he was surprised at the Grand Admiral taking over the pilot’s seat he certainly didn’t let it show. Or perhaps it wasn’t the first time Thrawn pulled a stunt like this.

“You do this often?” Eli asked with a frown in Sy Bisti.

“From time to time,” Thrawn said cryptically, making a wide hand gesture in the direction of the pilot’s seat.

“Wait a moment,” Eli stammered, looking at the Chiss as if he had grown a second head, “you want _me_ to pilot this thing?”

The glowing eyes sparkled with amusement.

“A very astute observation, _Agent_ Vanto. Now get to the pilot’s seat. I want to see how good you are at flying since you are about to die on your return journey from _Relentless_ to the _Chimaera_.”

Eli threw him a sour look, wordlessly sitting down into the pilot’s seat, looking down at the console.

“For both of our sakes, let us hope I haven’t forgotten the basic training or we are both about to die. Right now.” He spent most of his career doing a desk job, he rarely ever needed to operate a shuttlecraft. It would be a rough landing.

“I am not a flight academy instructor, Eli Vanto,” Thrawn said in an amused tone, sitting down in the co-pilot’s seat, putting on the headphones. He pressed several buttons on his control panel. “Reaching the _Chimaera_ in one piece will suffice for today.”

Eli snorted.

“No. You’re a grand admiral,” Eli said dryly. “That’s even worse.” He added, trying his best to ignore the Chiss’s intense scrutiny. _No pressure, huh?_

Eli performed the standard pre-flight sequence in silence, and he was about to start the engine when he noticed the Chiss’s frown.

“I … uh, I forgot something, didn’t I?” Eli asked awkwardly, expecting a vicious dressing down.

“Yes,” The Chiss said simply, leaning over and pushing a flashing yellow button at Eli’s console, making Eli consider banging his head against the desk.

 _Oh god, this is so embarrassing._ Eli cleared his throat.

“Coruscant Flight control,” Eli said in Basic into the mic, tuning into the standard flight comm frequency. “Shuttle _Nightswan_ is ready to take off.”

“Copy _Nightswan_ ,” came in a bored male voice, “you are cleared for lift off. Get in line level No 1052 and follow the traffic lights. I’ll have to warn you, though, there has been a serious accident in the Senate District and the Coruscant Security Force is still investigating the area. Be ready for a traffic jam. Leaving your designed lane level is not allowed, _Nightswan_. Repeat, until further notice, leaving your designed lane is not allowed.”

Thrawn let out an annoyed sigh. “Coruscant flight control. Shuttle _Nightswan_ requests priority one override, authorization code: Trill – Oh – Dorn – Seven – Four – Jenth – Aurek.” 

There was a brief pause at the other end of the line.

“Who the _kriff_ are you carrying, _Nightswan_?” Came in an angry voice. “This better be good, since you’ll mess up with the whole area.”

Eli exchanged an amused glance with Thrawn.

“Are you going to tell him the news?” Eli wondered, his lips marring in a smirk.

Thrawn shook his head.

“I am afraid the information is on the need to know basis, officer,” Thrawn spoke into the mic in a cool, measured tone, “And you do not need to know.”

“Just who do you think you are, pilot?!” came in even angrier reply.

Eli took a sharp inhale of breath, swallowing hard. The Chiss, on the other hand, only smiled. The same kind of smile that set his allies and enemies on edge.

“Grand Admiral Thrawn,” the Chiss delivered coldly, “And I am about to talk with Darth Vader, officer, so unless you wish to come over and personally explain to the Dark Lord why I am about to be late, I suggest you give us the priority one override now.”

Silence.

“Uh, I am so sorry, sir...” the voice said, suddenly meek and mellow, “I had no idea … you are cleared to go, sir. Follow the instructions I am about to transmit into your console.”

“Thank you, officer,” The Chiss said dryly. “Please include your name, rank, and personal identification number. The Empire will make note of your service.”

Eli shuddered. “You won’t punish him, will you? He was only doing his job. I mean … he may be a little burn-out but...”

The Chiss only waved a hand. “I will not.” He said in a tone that suggested he couldn’t care less. “But hopefully the next time the man hears the same authorization code, he will obey without further complaints. From time to time, Lord Vader also likes to sit down behind the pilot’s seat.”

“Holy spirits of Lysatra,” Eli exclaimed. He imagined the same exchange only with Darth Vader in Thrawn’s place. He gulped. “Uh….” He said as he followed the traffic lights. All of them turned green as soon as they approached. “Thank you for ...” He sighed. “Well, for back then. For sparing Vader’s aide’s life.”

His cheeks reddened up in embarrassment.

Thrawn let out a long, deep exhale, his eyes on the passing traffic. “I am not a vengeful man, Eli Vanto.”

Eli tapped his fingers nervously against the console. “No. I realize now that you aren’t.” He adjusted the cabin pressure as the shuttle ascended. “We haven’t exactly started at the best terms, have we?” He let out a small cough. “Why do you keep calling me by my full name, by the way? It sounds really strange.”

Thrawn titled his head to a side. “Among the Chiss, calling each other by their full names is the proper way of addressing each other. I decided to let humans call me ‘Thrawn’ because my full name is too complicated for them. As I already mentioned, my name is Mitth’raw’nuruodo.”

Eli frowned. “So ‘Thrawn’ is like a nick name or something?” He wondered. Then his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You don’t mean to tell me the whole Galactic Empire is on the first name basis with Grand Admiral Thrawn, do you?”

The Chiss’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “You have a way with words, Eli Vanto. However, you are essentially correct. ‘Thrawn’ is what we call a ‘core name,’ and the sense of familiarity associated with core names is not so dissimilar to human given names.”

 _So the whole Galactic Empire_ is _on the first name basis with Grand Admiral Thrawn._ Eli bit his tongue. _Wonder will never cease._

“Eli.” He let out a discreet cough. “I think … well, I think you can call me Eli, you know...” he mumbled, his eyes anywhere but at the Chiss. “Since you haven’t executed me, haven’t tortured me, and you even spared Lord Vader’s aide life… And you’re not the evil overlord I thought you to be… And so on.”

He had better shut up before he made a total idiot out of himself once again.

The Chiss grew silent for a long while, and when Eli turned his head in his direction, he found out he had been under a deep red-eyed scrutiny the whole time.

“Theliv.” The Chiss said finally. “Since you are going to the Chiss Ascendancy, you will need a proper Chiss name. Mitth’eli’vanto sounds good enough to me.”

“Didn’t you say your name was Mitth’raw’nuruodo?” Eli asked in suspicion, and from the scowl on the Chiss’s face he assumed that the pronunciation was off. “What does that make me, exactly? I hope I am not the little lost, adopted bantha club of yours as General Bittenfeld had phrased it in front of the whole Stormtrooper Corps.”

The Chiss flashed him an evil smirk, his glowing eyes openly gleaming. “General Bittenfeld’s diplomatic skills leave much to be desired, Theliv. However, the General was being correct in his assumptions.”

 

THE END

 

(1) Club Zenon – I wonder how many of you got it while reading All Roads Lead to Coruscant CH5. I’ve considered naming it Club Diogenes but that would have been too obvious.

(2) “Mixed loyalties are a luxury no officer of the Imperial Fleet can afford.” That’s a direct quote from the Thrawn Trilogy. Thrawn says that to Mara Jade. It’s really funny considering Thrawn’s loyalties in the new Canon.

 

I hope you enjoyed Rebel!Eli’s POV. I just _love_ the idea of Thrawn and Eli being frenemies in this verse, I can’t help it :-) And now that Eli became Mitth’eli’vanto, he can finally go to the Chiss Ascendancy. I’ll skip his little side-trip to _Relentless_ and flash forward to his warm welcome by the Chiss.

**EDITED: I've decided to publish Eli's tales in a separate story,[A Kingdom of Isolation](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12627399/chapters/28771422).  **

 


	12. Chimaera: Bittenfeld's in Trouble

**Title: Bittenfeld's in Trouble**

Author's Note: Though this ficlet was clearly inspired by the latest episodes (Flight of the Defender, Kindred, Clawler Commandeers), it's set between Season Three and Season Four. 

* * *

 

In the privacy of his command room, Thrawn unfastened his collar, unbuckled his belt, and removed the jacket of his uniform, folding it neatly on the table, then he sagged deep into the armchair. He closed his eyes, contemplating the situation in silence for a moment, letting out a deep, exasperated sigh. Another long, tiring day spent in the company of Governor Pryce.

Really, what was the point of poisoning one’s own homeworld? Couldn’t she find a more environmental friendly solution than mining doonium using the World Devastators? Yes, Thrawn had to admit he held his share of responsibility for destroying Lothal’s ecosystem; not all doonium went straightaway to Director Krennic; he, too, would need a rather significant amount if the TIE Defenders were to be produced en masse.

World Devastators.

A muscle in his cheek twitched. Unfortunately, Governor Pryce was the supreme commander of the Lothal sector; she outranked him in all political _and_ military decisions, _especially_ on the ground. He couldn’t afford to alienate her over the way how she ran her little fiefdom since Governor Pryce happened to be one of the very few humans who actually followed his orders in the deep space.

Slowly, Thrawn got to his feet and walked over to the adjoining corridor leading to his personal quarters; he needed to clear his mind, and what a better way to do it than…

He blinked. The bedroom was empty.

“Lisetha?” He called out hesitantly, looking around, checking whether she wasn’t in the refresher or in the kitchenette. Nothing. She was gone. And there was no note or flimsy as to her whereabouts.

Thrawn stopped to think. He wasn’t supposed to return until tomorrow morning, and considering the time difference and Lisetha’s rather limited social circle, it had left him only one possible option. He returned back to his command room in a brisk stride, switching on the main computer, and he dialed General Bittenfeld’s personal comm frequency.

It went straight to voice mail. Naturally.

“I’m sleeping.” The recorded voice growled out in an unfriendly tone. “If it’s an emergency, issue the Red Alert.”

A venomous hiss escaped him. Such insolence! He tuned into General Bittenfeld’s second-in-command’s personal comm.

“Yes, sir?” Colonel Covell replied instantly in a tired voice; the human must have been indeed sleeping. A moment later a quarter-sized holo lit up the room as the man on the other side got up from the bed, still in his night clothes.

“What is the nature of the emergency, Admiral?” The army soldier asked crisply, all signs of exhaustion gone. A life under constant drills did that to a person.

“I apologize for disturbing you, Colonel Covell,” Thrawn begun in a carefully modulated voice, “I merely wish to know whether General Bittenfeld shared his plans for tonight with you.” 

The human’s face clouded in confusion. “I… I’m not quite sure I follow, Admiral.” He said in a bewildered tone. The hologram hid the man’s thermal signature but even without it Thrawn could tell the man was completely, utterly lost.

Thrawn let out a soft sigh. “Colonel, I returned to my quarters only to find them empty. Now tell me where could he be and what could he be doing at this time.”

The bluish image grew still for so long that Thrawn had considered restarting the computer as it clearly appeared to be frozen; then all of a sudden the man let out a discreet cough, lowering his eyes as if in shame. “I’m sure it’s not what it looks like, Admiral.”

_Moactan teel!_

Thrawn narrowed his eyes, suppressing an urge to ask in a glacially cold tone, what, _precisely_ , it had looked like. Humans! _This_ human in particular… Colonel Covell was a skilled ground tactician, he had to give him that, but when it came to these things, the man was not exactly the brightest star on Csilla’s night sky.

“Colonel, simply tell me what is the number of Bittenfeld’s favorite training room, that would suffice.” Such an absurd notion was not even worth an explanation.

“Uhh, Training Room No#69, sir,” the human croaked out, his shoulders slumped, as if expecting a vicious dressing down, and when none came he mustered his courage and continued, standing a little straighter. “There must be a reasonable explanation, sir--”

“I haven’t even for a fraction of a second thought otherwise.” Thrawn resisted an urge to call him a moactan teel aloud. Instead, he disconnected the call.

Training Room No#69.

Thrawn tapped into the ship’s security-cam feed. No trace. And the training room appeared to be empty. Good. At the very least General Bittenfeld had enough common sense to hack into the _Chimaera_ ’s security system, cover their tracks, and put the training room’s security-cam on a loophole. If Lisetha appeared on _any_ recording, he would need to remind the General where he belonged. It was enough Thrawn tolerated the undignified sounds coming from the man’s mouth that did not even remotely resemble Cheunh.

Thrawn shook his head, switched off the main computer, and decided to see for himself what his wife could be doing with such an uncivilized creature as Bittenfeld in Training Room No#69 at 03:00 ship time.

 

TO BE CONTINUED

 

Fanfiction Recommendation: [Abundance of Faith](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11290794/chapters/25259286) by Laivaaja. Summary: "Emperor Palpatine's suspicions of Darth Vader grow intolerable. The fate of the galaxy will depend on the outcome of the confrontation between a Sith master and the apprentice."  Well, it's a fan comics to be more precise. Gen. Brilliantly drawn, starring Admiral Piett, General Veers, and other Lord Vader's men. LOVE IT! (On a side note: Commander Brandei! Someone's TTT fan here. I, too, wanted to bring Brandei to life in the Freak Fleet. A country bumpkin from Mantooine would fit in nicely. Too bad he's supposed to be serving under Lord Vader at this time). 

Also, I've found a couple of amazing Bittenfeld's fanarts on Pixiv: [here](https://www.pixiv.net/member_illust.php?mode=medium&illust_id=7587392), [here](https://www.pixiv.net/member_illust.php?mode=medium&illust_id=11153082), [here](https://www.pixiv.net/member_illust.php?mode=medium&illust_id=53770884), and [here](https://www.pixiv.net/member_illust.php?mode=medium&illust_id=25803427). And Bittenfeld's expression chart [here](https://www.pixiv.net/member_illust.php?mode=medium&illust_id=26241616). That's my man!  


	13. Chimaera: Neck Deep in Trouble

 

**Title: Neck Deep in Trouble**

* * *

 

“Colonel Covell,” the smooth, carefully modulated voice belonging to one else than Grand Admiral Thrawn made Covell stop right in his tracks, just a few paces away from the haunted training room. He cursed inwardly, mentally preparing to face their alien commander.

“I do not recall mentioning I require your presence.”

“Uhh, no, sir,” Covell swallowed hard, only barely suppressing a wince as the glowing eyes bore deep into his own. The pale blue features hardened, a nearly imperceptible change, but still it spoke volumes when it came to their alien commander, meaning the Grand Admiral was irritated; enough to be noticed even by a casual observer.

In other words, General Bittenfeld was in trouble. Neck deep in trouble. “I wouldn’t…” He watched as the glowing eyes narrowed. “I mean General Bittenfeld wouldn’t...” Damn, he was babbling like an idiot. “That is to say… I’m sure it’s a terrible misunderstanding, sir.”

The stoic alien regarded him for a moment, and Covell tried his best to not to squirm under such an intense scrutiny. Under normal circumstances, Covell had no problem meeting the strangely hypnotizing gaze but these were hardly the normal circumstances. Surely the gundark wouldn’t, would he? But then, Grand Admiral Thrawn wasn’t supposed to return until tomorrow morning…

The problem was that Covell was aware that General Bittenfeld had been seeing Lady Lisetha for some time, presumably teaching her how to fight. In fact, he had even mentioned showing the red-eyed femme fatale (Bittenfeld’s words, not his!) how to operate a bazooka, which left Covell speechless when he had first heard about it.

_Corulag moons, please let it be a misunderstanding!_

The Grand Admiral let out a long, deep exhale and released Covell from the spell. “Naturally.” He said in a resigned tone. “Let’s clear the misunderstanding together, shall we?” He turned on his heel and gracefully walked over to the computer terminal next to the Training Room#69, taking out one of his rank cylinders, opening the heavy blast-door using his personal override code.

All training facilities aboard Imperial military vessels were completely sound-proof; the crew of forty thousand people wouldn’t take it kindly if they had to constantly listen to the sound of blaster fire or a melee. This time, however, there was no tell-tale _pew pew_ from a blaster rifle or a thunderous _boom_ from a bazooka. Or the sound of melee weapons clashing against each other, or even a heavy panting from hand-to-hand combat.

It was music.

Waltz. Nabicci Futana to be precise.

Covell sucked in a long, hissing breath. Corulag moons, it wasn’t a misunderstanding! Here they were, General Bittenfeld and Lady Lisetha, dancing slowly into the rhythm of the music.

 _I’m so dead_ , Covell realized. _I’m never leaving this room alive. No one is leaving here alive. The time has come for the matter-antimatter reaction._

“What is the meaning of this, General,” the Grand Admiral said in his oh-so very typical smooth, cultured voice; his stance, however, became unnaturally stiff, and the red eyes narrowed into mere slits, emanating an intense, bright red glow.

The two abruptly halted, right in the middle of a spin.

“Thrawn, dearest,” Lisetha called after him, the powder blue features brightening up in a soft smile. She left Bittenfeld where he stood and waltzed over to the Grand Admiral. “You weren’t supposed to return until tomorrow. How is Governor Pryce?”

Covell’s heart skipped a beat. Holy kriff!

At this very moment, the Grand Admiral reminded Covell of the strange lizard statues he had kept in his office. The glowing gaze darted from Lady Lisetha to Bittenfeld and then back again. “I see.” He said in a deceptively mild tone.

Covell’s complexion turned ashen; the position of the Seventh Fleet General had just opened up and it wouldn’t be him taking over the gundark’s position.

“Grand Admiral, your wife is an excellent dancer,” Bittenfeld hummed approvingly, crossing the room with a smirk on his lips, the longish, ginger hair looking strangely disheveled. “Funny, considering you have two left feet.”

Only the gundark would welcome death with the open arms.

Covell cupped his face in his hands. It wasn’t any different from Bittenfeld’s usual approach at the battlefield, most certainly true; this time, however, Covell had the feeling that Bittenfeld was really playing with fire. But more importantly, Grand Admiral Thrawn couldn’t dance? _At all?!_ And he didn’t even try to deny it?!

Lady Lisetha flashed him a conspiratorial wink. “Oh, you are too kind, General,” she said with a sincere humility in her voice, the glowing eyes glittering. “This is what Dear Voss taught me before he left.”

Covell jerked in shock, his eyes widening. _Dear Voss?_ _As in Voss Parck?!_ _What!!!_ The little mapping expedition to the Unknown Regions started making so much sense now. The fellow Corulagi could consider himself lucky he ended up with a dead-end assignment and not a blaster bolt in his heart. Covell gulped.

“Colonel Covell,” Lady Lisetha addressed him kindly, too kindly in fact, breaking his line of thoughts. “Can you dance, too?”

 _It’s a trap_.

“I...” Covell stammered. “I think I need to go and water my plant.” He said the first thing that came to his mind, laughing stupidly. “I can’t recall the last time I’ve watered it, actually,” he continued lamely, spreading his arms wide, “but I get the feeling if I don’t go and water it right now, it will wither and die.”

“Water you plant?!” Bittenfeld snapped.

“That’s the best excuse you could come up with?!” The gundark bellowed in a tone he had often used towards fresh recruits. “It’s the worst excuse ever, scuttlebutt!”

Covell squeezed his eyes shut; it was three a.m., and they had spent the past week down on Lothal, chasing lothcats with full assault gear and heavy artillery as per General Bittenfeld’s orders. A much needed ground exercise, the gundark had called it. Damn him to the Nine Hells of Corellia! Who could blame Covell for coming up with such a pathetic excuse?

“Oh, you have a plant, Colonel?” Lady Lisetha asked innocently, her voice full of curiosity.

Covell opened his eyes, feeling an impeding sense of doom. The last thing he needed was to pique the Chiss curiosity. Yes, he had a plant. One couldn’t possibly keep a pet aboard the Star Destroyer, could he? Gilad would have _never_ tolerated such mess aboard his precious ship.

“Can I see it?” She asked suggestively, stepping directly in front of him. It took all Covell’s self-control to not to take a step back. “Perhaps I could water the plant for you?”

Covell flinched. “I...” He let out a discreet cough. “I don’t think it would be proper, my lady.” He said in a low tone of voice, not daring to look into the other pair of glowing eyes.

And Bittenfeld, despite knowing it was a trap, chose to make a forceful breakthrough. “Oh yes, Lissy, the scuttlebutt really has a plant.” He declared boldly, the light brown eyes calmly rising to meet the Grand Admiral’s. “Corulag lovestone ivy. It’s a creeping plant that climbs over various surfaces, stones, and fences. And it’s quite huge, actually.”

_You’re only making it worse, General!_

“His quarters look more like a greenhouse than an officer’s cabin nowadays. In the blooming season I can’t even go in without sneezing. You know, hay fever.”

When the Grand Admiral needed something from his senior staff, he’d either comm them or summon them directly to his office. When the General needed something, he would come knocking on their doors, stormed in like the force of nature he was, said what he had to say, and he stormed out again. Except for the ivy’s blooming season; at that time even the gundark resorted to the ship’s intercom.

“Lissy?” The Grand Admiral repeated ominously. “You called my wife ‘Lissy,’ General?” He asked in a tone that could have cut the glass.

“Yes, I did.” Bittenfeld stood his ground. “Is there something wrong with the name?”

_What the hell?!_

Then Covell realized where Bittenfeld was going with this; he tried to deflect the Grand Admiral’s anger back to himself. His commanding officer was harsh but he was fair; Covell murmured a silent thank you.

The Grand Admiral shot him a hard glare.

“Has she not explained Chiss naming customs to you?  _Reli_ is the House affiliation name. _Set_ is the central stem. _Harana_ is the immediate family name, or, in her case, Second Ruling Family affiliation name. _Lisetha_ is what we call a core name.” He lectured in a sharp, uncharacteristically impatient tone for Grand Admiral Thrawn. “ _Lissy’_ makes absolutely no sense. Moreover, such an abbreviation sounds completely unbecoming for someone of her social standing.”

Covell gaped. That… was not the reaction he had expected.

“Oh, I rather like it, dearest,” Lady Lisetha said with a playful smile on her lips, looking at Thrawn as if daring him to comment on the matter.

“Lisetha,” the Grand Admiral breathed out. He looked … well, he didn’t look _jealous_ , he looked _tired_. He exhaled softly, and then he switched into the melodic, song-like language of his people, Cheunh, they had called it, and started a long monologue that lasted a couple of minutes.

Finally, Lisetha’s expression softened, and she replied back in the same language.

Covell couldn’t understand a word, naturally, but it looked like Bittenfeld could, and from the expression on the gundark’s face, the conversation wasn’t cheerful.

“Wait a moment,” Bittenfeld carelessly interrupted them (the man wouldn’t know tact even if it hit him in the face!), his expression darkening. “I didn’t get much but I could understand Pryce and … A planetary ravager? What’s going on there?”

Trust General Bittenfeld to start with vocabulary involving destruction when starting with a new language.

“Close, General. A World Devastator,” The Grand Admiral clarified. “Governor Pryce came up with the wonderful idea to start mining Lothal’s rich natural reserves of doonium using World Devastators.”

Bittenfeld let out a loud snort, rolling his eyes. “Ha! Well, Thrawn, this sure beats even  _your_ wonderful idea to start using Darth Vader’s favorite pet aliens.”

The glowing eyes narrowed once again. “We have talked about this, General. There are at least two known Jedi among the Rebels, and given the fact that the Noghri easily bested you and me in a physical combat, they could be the solution to our little Jedi problem.”

And now Covell felt like an ensign listening on the ranking officers’ private conversation. _Noghri?_

“I have studied their art very carefully, General,” the Grand Admiral continued in a dreamy voice. “They may be a race of assassins but they come from an honor-bound culture, which makes them perfect for my purposes. Deadly but predictable.”

Bittenfeld crossed his arms in a negative stance. “Honor-bound culture my ass!” He exclaimed. “Once they get tired of your manipulations, _Grand_ Admiral, they’ll stab you in the back. No Noghri.” He declared resolutely. “Over my dead body.”

A blue-black eyebrow cocked up. “Why, that could easily be arranged, General.” 

Covell shuddered… He wasn’t… He couldn’t be serious, could he? But then, this was Grand Admiral Thrawn they were talking about. He was always serious.

Lady Lisetha chose the moment to disperse the tense atmosphere between the two men; she turned her attention back to Covell, rewarding him with an almost a sympathetic expression.

Now that there was another member of the Grand Admiral’s species around, Covell was given a unique opportunity to compare their expressions to see whether the impassive features belonged to Grand Admiral Thrawn exclusively or whether they were a species trait. He had seen Lady Lisetha only a couple of times (General Bittenfeld would have been a better judge here), and even though her face was slightly more expressive than Thrawn’s, it was still much less expressive than of an average human. Could it be possible that the differences in bone structure and musculature resulted in what constituted an impassive face by human standards?

“You still haven’t answered my original question, Colonel.” She said in an encouraging tone, breaking the line of his thoughts once again. “Can you dance?”

The two giants stopped glaring at each other and focused their attention at him instead; General Bittenfeld’s face lit up in amusement (the gundark knew, damn him!), the Grand Admiral looked nonplussed.

Covell shook his head; very well, he’d try the gundark’s blunt approach for once. “Yes, my lady.” He admitted grudgingly. “Imperial standard, Core World classic, Rim World rhythm. And a few Outer Rim swing dances.”

He shrugged at the two blue heads that tilted slightly to a side. Each to a different side, he noted with interest.

“I, ah, my mother was a performing artist. I grew up surrounded by dancers.”

“Oh,” Lady Lisetha gasped. The glowing eyes shone up with an open curiosity.

“What kind of performance became your mother famous for?” She wondered. “Ballet? Core World classic?” She speculated with a dreamy expression. “I find your human dances most intriguing, Colonel. Chiss ones are rather boring, you see, ritual group dances performed at rite of passage ceremonies. Birth. Maturity. Weddings. Burials. And so on.”

She made an absent minded gesture with her hand.

Covell’s eyes met Bittenfeld’s; a muscle in the General’s cheek twitched at first, then slowly the man’s lips twisted in an evil smirk. Of course the gundark wouldn’t give him a helping hand there. Now this could get really interesting. Were the two Chiss even familiar with the expression? At any rate, it wasn’t exactly a secret among the crew, such things had the tendency to spread faster than lightspeed; he, as the head of the _Chimaera_ ’s rumor mill, had realized that better than anyone else.

There was a reason why Covell fit in the Freak Fleet like a Twi’lek dancer in a disreputable establishment; back on Corulag he had been known as the son of a whore. On the other hand, he could always go lower in the eyes of fellow Corulagi, he supposed. Or that was what he had kept telling himself. He could be a son of an _actual_ whore. Or he could be gay. At least what his mother had been doing was still, if borderline, legal back on his world.

Covell exhaled slowly. He had resented his mother for her performances during his teenage years, but eventually he had come to the terms with it. Raising children as a single mother couldn’t have been easy. Especially during the Clone Wars.

“Burlesque.”

 

THE END

 

I’m leaving the rest to you readers. Does Thrawn know what a burlesque is? YOU tell me. Entertain me with a short comment-fic below XD

 

Lisetha:

Thrawn:

Bittenfeld:

Covell:

 


End file.
